ffl 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


OP 


ALEXANDER  POPE. 


WITH  MEMOIR,  EXPLANATORY  NOTES,  ETC. 


JSTEW  YORK: 
A.  L.  BUKT,  PUBLISHER. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PREFATORY  MEMOIR 7 

PREFACE  TO  THE  EDITION  OF  1716 17 

JUVENILE  POEMS: 

A  Discourse  on  Pastoral  Poetry 22 

Spring 27 

Summer 31 

Autumn 34 

Winter 37  * 

ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 40  — 

Tlfe  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 62  - 

MESSIAH:  A  SACRED  ECLOGUE 85 

ELEGY    TO    THE    MEMORY   OF    AN    UNFORTU- 
NATE  LADY 90 

PROLOGUE    TO    MR.    ADDISON'S    TRAGEDY    OF 
CATO 92 

EPILOGUE  TO  MR.  ROWE'S  JANE  SHORE 94 

WINDSOR  FOREST 96 

ELOISA  TO  ABELARD 109 

THE  DUNCIAD: 

Preface  Prefixed^to  the  Five  First  Editions  of  the 

Dunciad ? 118 

Book  1 122 

Book  II 134 

Book  III 150 

Book  IV 163 

AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN: 

Epistle  1 187 

Epistle  II 194 

Epistle  III 202 

Epistle  IV 210 

THE  UNIVERSAL  PRAYER 221 

MORAL  ESSAYS: 

Epistle  I ,  223 

Epistle  II 231 

Epistle  III 239 

Epistle  IV 253 

Epistle  V rffi»«,*MMfffMfft.ti 260 


4  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

SATIRES? 

Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot 263 

Second  Book  of  Horace.  —Satire  I.  To  Mr.  Fortescue.  277 
Second  Book  of  Horace. — Satire  II.  To  Mr.  Bethel.  282 
First  Book  of  Horace. — Epistle  I.  To  Lord  Boling- 

broke 287 

First  Book  of  Horace.— Epistle  VI.  To  Mr.  Murray.  292 
Second  Book  of  Horace. — Epistle  I.  To  Augustus.  296 

Second  Book  of  Horace.— Epistle  II 310 

Epilogue  to  the  Satires.     Dialogue  1 319 

Dialogue  II 324 

EPISTLES: 

Epistle  to  Robert,  Earl  of  Oxford  and  Mortimer 333 

Epistle  to  James  Craggs,  Esq 334 

Epistle  to  Mr.  Jervas 335 

Epistle  to  Miss  Blount 337 

Epistle  to  the  Same 340 

EPITAPHS: 

On  Charles  Earl  of  Dorset 342 

On  Sir  William  Trumbull 342 

On  the  Hon.  Simon  Harcourt 343 

On  James  Craggs,  Esq 343 

Intended  for  Mr.  Rowe 344 

On  Rowe 344 

On  Mrs.  Corbet 345 

On  the  Monument  of  the  Hon.  Robert  Digby,  and  of 

his  Sister  Mary 345 

On  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller 346 

On  General  Henry  Withers 346 

On  Mr.  Elijah  Fenton 347 

On  Mr.  Gay 347 

Another •. 347 

Intended  for  Sir  Isaac  Newton 348 

On  Dr.  Francis  Atterbury 348 

On  Edmund  Duke  of  Buckingham 348 

For  One  who  would  not  be  Buried  in  Westminster 

Abbey 349 

Another,  on  the  Same 349 

Lord  Coningsby's  Epitaph 349 

On  Butler's  Monument 350 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS: 

Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day 351 

Two  Choruses  to  the  Tragedy  of  Brutus: 

Chorus  of  Athenians 355 

Chorus  of  Youths  and  Virgins 356 

Ode,  on  Solitude 358 

The  Dying  Christian  to  his  Soul 359 

To  the  Author  of  a  Poem  entitled  Successio 359 

Argus 360 

To  Henry  Cromwell,  Esq 661 


CONTENTS.  6 

PAGE 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS— continued. 

A  Farewell  to  London  in  1715 361 

The  Basset-Table 363 

To  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu 367 

Extemporaneous  Lines,  on  the  Picture  of  Lady  Mary 

W.  Montagu 368 

Epigram 368 

On  a  certain  Lady  at  Court 369 

To  Mr.  Gay 369 

Prologue  Designed  for  Mr.  D'Urfey's  last  Play 370 

A  Prologue  by  Mr.  Pope 371 

Macer:  a  Character 371 

To  Mr.  John  Moore 372 

The  Looking-Glass 374 

Lines  Sung  by  Durastanti  when  she  Took  Leave  of 

the  English  Stage 374 

Occasioned  by  some  Verses  of  his  Grace  the  Duke 

of  Buckingham 375 

On  Mrs.  Tofts 375 

On  his  Grotto  at  Twickenham 376 

Epigram 376 

Impromptu  to  Lady  Winchilsea. 376 

Answer  to  the  following  Question  of  Miss  Howe — 

What  is  Prudery? 377 

Umbra 377 

Verbatim  from  Boileau 378 

The  Challenge . .  378 

To  Mrs.  Martha  Blount  on  her  Birthday 380 

Lines  to  Windsor  Forest 381 

The  Three  Gentle  Shepherds 381 

Verses  to  Dr.  Bolton 383 

To  Mr.  Thomas  Southern 382 

Sandys's  Ghost ;  or,  a  Proper  New  Ballad  on  the 

New  Ovid's  Metamorphoses 383 

Epigram 386 

Epitaphs  on  John  Hughes  and  Sarah  Drew 386 

On  a  Picture  of  Queen  Caroline 387 

On  the  Countess  of  Burlington  Cutting  Paper 387 

On  an  Old  Gate  at  Chiswick 389 

Song 388 

Upon  the  Duke  of  Marlborough's  House  at  Wood- 
stock   389 

Epigram  to  Lord  Radnor 390 

Verses  left  by  Mr.  Pope 390 

Verses  to  Mr.  Craggs 390 

To  Quinbus  Flestrin,  the  Man-Mountain 391 

On  certain  Ladies 395 

The  Lamentation  of  Glumdalclitch  for  the  Loss  of 

Grildrig 392 

To  Mr.  Lemuel  Gulliver 394 

Lines  on  Swift's  Ancestors 395 

Epigram , 396 

Epigram.. 390 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS— continued. 

Inscription  on  a  Grotto,  the  Work  of  nine  Ladies. . .   306 

Epigram  on  Epitaphs 396 

The  Balance  of  Europe 397 

To  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller 397 

To  a  Lady  with  "  The  Temple  of  Fame." 397 

Epigram 397 

Epigram 398 

Bishop  Hough 398 

To  Gay 398 

Inscription  on  a  Punch-Bowl 399 

To  Erinna 399 

Translation  of  Martial's  Epigram  on  Antonius  Primus.  399 

Impartial  Jove 401 

On  Receiving  from  the  Right  Hon.  The  Lady  Frances 

Shirley  a  Standish  and  two  Pens 400 

Translation  of  a  Prayer  of  Brutus 401 

A  Poem 402 

TRANSLATIONS: 

Statius,  his  Thebais.     Book  1 405 

Sappho  to  Phaon 429' 

The  Fable  of  Dryope 436 

Vertumnus  and  Pomona 439 

IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS: 

I.— Waller.     Of  a  Lady  Singing  to  her  Lute 463 

On  a  Fan  of  the  Author's  Design 463 

II.— Cowley.     The  Garden 444 

Weeping 445 

III— E.  of  Rochester.     On  Silence 446 

IV.— E.  of  Dorset.     Artemisia 448 

Phryne 449 

V.— Dr.  Swift.    The  Happy  Life  of  a  Country  Parson.  449 

The  Temple  of  Fame 451 

January  and  May  ;  or,  the  Merchant's  Tale 466 

The  Wife  of  Bath 485 

^HE  SATIRES  OF  DR.  DONNE 496 

IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE: 

Book  I.     Epistle  VII 506 

Book  II.     Satire  VI 509 

Book  IV.     Ode  1 514 

Part  of  the  Ninth  Ode  of  the  Fourth  Book 515 

The  Fourth  Epistle  of  the  First  Book  of  Horace's 

Epistles 516 

APPENDIX: 

A  Letter  to  the  Publisher 518 

Martinus  Scriblerus,  his  Prolegomena  and  Illustra- 
tions to  the  Dunciad 523 

Testimonies  of  Authors 524 

Martinus  Scriblerus  of  the  Poem 540 

Jticardus  Aristarchus  of  the  Hero  of  the  Poem .....  543 


MEMOIR  OF  POPE. 


IN  the  year  1688,  on  the  second  day  of  the  month  of  May, 
there  was  born  in  Lombard  Street,  London,  a  child  who  was 
destined,  very  early  in  his  life,  to  polish  the  English  lan- 
guage to  the  highest  pitch ;  and  to  give  utterance  in  eloquent 
words,  many  of  which  have  become  proverbial,  to  the  pe- 
culiar common  sense  and  thought  of  his  country. 

That  child  was  Alexander  Pope ;  a  tender,  beautiful  in- 
fant, but  delicate,  ailing,  and  slightly  deformed  by  excessive 
weakness  ;  of  sweet  and  gentle  disposition ;  and  with  a  voice 
so  melodious  that  he  was  called  in  fondness  "  The  little 
nightingale." 

His  father  was  (he  says  himself)  of  a  good  family,  and  had 
made  about  twenty  thousand  pounds  in  trade — a  very  con- 
siderable sum  in  those  days ;  his  mother,  Editha  Pope,  was 
one  of  the  Yorkshire  Turners. 

Alexander  was  taught  reading  by  an  aunt ;  and  at  seven 
or  eight  years  of  age  became  passionately  fond  of  it.  He 
learned  to  write  by  imitating  printed  books,  which  he  did 
with  great  skill. 

The  parents  of  Pope  were  Roman  Catholics  ;  he  was  con- 
sequently placed  with  a  Catholic  priest,  who  resided  in 
Hampshire,  for  education.  The  child  was  then  eight  years 
of  age.  Mr.  Taverner,  his  tutor,  appears  to  have  been 
worthy  of  his  pupil.  By  a  method  very  rarely  practised,  he 
taught  the  little  lad  Greek  and  Latin  at  the  same  time.  He 
also  taught  the  child  to  love  the  classics  by  letting  him  read 
Ogilby's  Homer,  and  Sandys's  translation  of  Ovid  in  English. 
Ogilby  does  not  seem  to  have  impressed  him  favourably, 
though  of  course  he  was  indebted  to  him  for  his  first  knowl- 
edge of  the  immortal  tale  of  Troy  ;  but  of  Sandys  he  declares 
in  his  notes  to  the  Iliad  "that  English  poetry  owes  much  of  its 
beauty  to  his  translations.'*  His  poem  of  "  Sandys's  Ghost  " 
(p.  383)  shows  how  long  he  treasured  his  boyish  predilection 
for  this  translation.  Under  the  care  of  Mr.  Taverner 
the  young  poet  made  great  and  rapid  progress.  He  was, 
^»ien  older,  removed  to  a  school  at  Twyford,  a  lovely  village 
near  Winchester  ;  but  the  master  was  so  inferior  to  his  first 
instructor,  that  the  little  fellow  lampooned  him,  and  was  con- 
sequently sent  home  in  disgrace.  Pope  could  not  remember 
when  first  he  began  to  write  verses  ;  "  he  lisped  in  number,? 
for  the  numbers  came/'  he  says  of  himself.  From  pleasant 
Twyford  and  its  inefficient  master,  he  was  removed  to  a. 
school  at  Hyde  Park  Corner.  While  here,  occasional  visits 


8  MEMOIR  OF  POPE. 

to  the  theatre  roused  his  infant  genius,  and  he  formed  a 
play  from  Ogilby's  translation  of  the  Iliad,  with  verses  of 
his  own  interspersed,  which  was  acted  by  his  schoolfellows : 
his  master's  gardener  personating  the  mighty  Ajax.  He 
used  to  say  that  at  these  schools  he  lost  a  little  of  that  which 
he  had  acquired  under  Mr.  Taverner  ;  but  as  he  translated 
at  them  more  than  a  fourth  part  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses," 
his  loss  must  have  been  chiefly  in  Greek. 

Whilst  little  Alexander  Pope  was  at  school,  his  parents 
were  residing  at  a  small  house  which  his  father  had  pur- 
chased, at  Binfield  in  Windsor  Forest.  The  hopes  of  Mr. 
Pope  had,  naturally,  been  cruelly  disappointed  when  the 
king,  who  was  of  his  own  faith,  fled,  and  Dutch  William 
assumed  the  government  wrested  from  his  wife's  father. 
Conscientiously  he  could  not  lend  the  usurper's  government 
a  penny  of  his  honestly  earned  savings,  therefore  he  kept 
his  fortune  in  a  chest,  and  lived  on  the  capital — a  sure 
way  of  diminishing  the  inheritance  of  the  son  he  dearly 
loved,  but  whose  worldly  interests  he  would  not  place  above 
the  sincere  dictates  of  his  conscience.  No  doubt,  in  this  our 
day,  such  a  mode  of  action  would  be  sneered  at  as  fanatical 
and  absurd.  Let  us  at  least  allow  that  it  was  honest  ;  per- 
haps, if  conscientious  scruples  existed  still,  we  should  not 
hear  of  such  frequent  ruin  ;  at  least  Mr.  Pope — -pere — pre- 
served and  enjoyed  his  wealth,  and  knew  no  fear  of  the 
bankruptcy  of  Moslem  creditors. 

It  was  to  this  pretty  cottage  by  the  wayside,  with  a  row 
of  elms  in  front,  separating  it  from  the  road,  and  twenty 
acres  of  land  behind  it,  that  Mr.  Pope  recalled  his  gifted 
child,  when  Alexander  had  attained  the  age  of  twelve  ;  and 
so  sweet  and  tranquil  was  his  home,  that  the  little  fellow 
broke  forth  at  once  into  rhyme  and  wrote  the  "  Ode  on 
Solitude  ;"  see  page  358.  His  father  and  mother  must  have 
been  delighted  with  it.  The  father,  proud  of  the  child's 
precocious  talents,  encouraged  him  to  write  verses,  criticJs- 
ing  them,  and  never  consenting  to  be  satisfied  till  they  had 
been  made  as  perfect  as  the  young  poet  could  render  them  ; 
that  "  best  "  attained,  he  would  say  with  paternal  satisfac- 
tion, "  These  are  good  rhymes  !  " 

A  happy  life  for  the  studious  boy  if  only  he  had  not  suf- 
fered so  from  cruel  headaches,  and  been  unable  to  join  in 
boyish  sports  or  exercise.  For  a  few  months  he  had  a  tutor 
at  home,  a  Mr.  Deane ;  but  did  only  a  little  of  "  Tully's 
offices"  with  him.  Thenceforward  Pope  taught  himself; 
and — at  twelve  years  old  ! — formed  a  plan  of  study  from 
which  he  never  deviated. 

Reading  the  English  poets  of  those  days — amongst  whom 
Shakespeare  was  scarcely  reckoned — he  at  once  detected  the 
superiority  of  Dryden,  and,  in  his  youthful  enthusiasm,  per- 
suaded some  friends  to  take  him  to  the  coffee-house  fre- 
quented by  the  great  poet,  that  he  might  at  least  gaze  on 
"  Glorious  John."  As  Dryden  died  before  Pope  was  twelve 
years  old,  this  visit  must,  however,  date  previous  to  his  re- 
turn to  the  Binfield  home. 


MEMOIR  OF  POPE.  9 

At  fourteen  he  made  a  version  of  the  first  book  of  the 
"  Thebais"  of  Statius  ;  he  translated  also  tin  epistle  from 
Sappho  to  Phaon — from  Ovid — and  modernised  Chaucer's 
"January  and  May,"  and  "  Prologue  to  the  Y/ife  of  Bath." 
At  fourteen,  also,  lie  wrote  his  poem  on  '•  Silence"  in  imita- 
tion of  Lord  Rochester's  "  No*  ing." 

At  fifteen  he  became  desir  >us  of  adding  a  knowledge  of 
modern  languages  to  Greek  rnd  Latin;  he  went  to  London, 
and  learned  French  and  Italian.  Returning  to  his  home,  he 
appears  to  have  devoted  himself  to  1  -rary  pursuits.  He 
wrote  a  tragedy,  a  comedy,  and  an  epic  poem;  and  confesses 
that  "  he  thought  himself  a  great  genius."  The  boy  rated 
himself  only  at  his  real  value.  The  tragedy  was  founded  on 
the  legend  of  St.  Genevieve,  the  epic  poem  was  called  "Al- 
cander;"  but  the  maturer  judgment  of  the  m  i  condemned 
all  these  performances  to  destruction.  He  was  also  a  great 
and  universal  reader. 

Before  he  was  quite  sixteen  he  won  a  friend  of  the  great- 
est importance  to  his  future  success  in  lif  j. 

Scarcely  two  miles  from  the  residence  of  Pope's  father 
there  lived,  at  that  time,  Sir  William  Trumbull  or  Trum- 
ball.  He  had  been  a  statesman  and  an  ambassador,  but  at 
sixty  years  of  age,  sought  repose  and  quiet  enjoyment  in  the 
country.  The  boy  of  genius  was  introduced  to  the  old  man 
of  >ciety  and  politics,  and  both  were  charmed  by  the  ac- 
qu  ntance. 

In  1704  the  lad  submitted  his  MS.  "  Pastorals"  to  the  in- 
spection of  his  new  friend,  and  received  the  highest  com- 
mendation from  him.  The  MS.  was  shown  to  competent 
judges,  who  at  once  decided  that  it  evinced  the  dawn  of 
genius.  In  the  present  day  tho  Pastorals  will  scarcely  be 
thought  to  presag  >  such  a  future  as  that  of  the  witty  satirist 
and  shrewd  thinker:  but  if  we  consider  how  inferior  the 
poets  of  that  age  were — Drydcn  alone  surviving  from  them — 
we  shall  not  wonder  at  Sir  William  TrumbulFs  admiration 
of  Pope' .  smooth  and  elegan',  rorses. 

The  :t  Pastorals  (still  in  ~13.)  were  shown  next — perhaps 
by  Cir  William  himself — to  tin  old  dramatist  Wycherley, 
who  lived  near;  this  celebrated  wit,  then  near  seventy,  pro- 
fessed I-lmself  enchanted  with  the  poem  ,  and  at  once  in- 
vited Pope  to  his  house.  A  friendship  sprang  up  between 
the  youth  of  sixteen  and  the  septuagenarian;  the  former 
paying  the  natural  homage  of  youth  to  the  fashionable 
writer  of  the  ago  ju  passing  away;  the  selfish  old  roue 
anxious  to  uso  the  great  talents  of  the  young  poet  in  the  re- 
vision of  his  own  writings. 

By  Wycherley,  the  "  Pastorals"  were  shown  to  Cromwell, 
an  amateur  critic  and  man  of  the  world;  and  by  Cromwell 
to  Walsh,  a  minor  poet,  but  who  it  seems  was  a  very  judic- 
ious critic. 

The  friendship  between  Wycherley  and  Pope  was  not, 
however,  of  long  duration.  The  old  writer  requested  the 
young  one  to  correct  his  poems;  Pope  complied,  and  did  his 
task  honestly  and  thoroughly;  but  with  ingenuous  frankness 


10  MEMOIR  OF  POPE. 

ended  by  advising  Wycherley  to  turn  his  poems  into  prose  t 
The  old  bard  never  forgave  this  plain  speaking,  but  Pope  re- 
tained a  feeling  of  kindness  for  his  friend  to  the  last,  and 
visited  him  shortly  before  his  death. 

Walsh,  whose  own  poems  have  long  since  sunk  to  ob- 
livion, encouraged  Pope  by  his  praise;  and  advised  him  to 
especially  study  correctness,  hitherto  entirely  neglected  by 
English  poets. 

The  "  Pastorals"  were  published  in  1709  in  Tonson's  Mis- 
cellany, in  a  volume  ' '  which  began  with  the  *  Pastorals'  of 
Philips,"  says  Johnson,  "and  ended  with  those  of  Pope." 
The  same  year  he  wrote  the  "  Essay  on  criticism."  Addison 
praised  it  in  4he  "  Spectator;"  but  the  celebrated  critic  of 
the  day,  Dennis,  wrote  an  abusive  pamphlet  against  it,  and 
Pope  allowed  that  Dennis  had  hit  upon  some  blunders  in  the 
first  edition.  His  co-religionists  also  reprobated  this  Essay 
as  being  too  severe  on  the  monastic  orders,  and  too  laudatory 
of  Erasmus.  The  poem  is  a  very  remarkable  one  to  have 
been  written  by  a  youth  of  twenty  years  of  age. 

It  was  followed  by  the  beautiful  poem  "  The  Messiah," 
written  at  the  suggestion  of  Steele,  and  criticised  by  him 
before  its  publication  in  the  "  Spectator."  The  "  Verses  on 
an  Unfortunate  Lady  "  were  composed  about  the  same  time 
as  the  Essay.  There  is  no  absolute  certainty  even  now  as  to 
whom  this  lady  might  have  been.  It  is  said  that  her  name 
was  Winsberry,  and  that  she  was  a  sister  of  Lord  Gage  ; — 
that  she  was  the  same  lady  to  whom  the.  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham wrote  a  song,  entitled  "To  a  Lady  retiring  to  a  Con- 
vent ;"  by  Voltaire  she  was  said  to  be  a  lady  who  had  fallen 
in  love  with  a  French  prince,  the  Duke  of  Berry,  and  whose 
love  had  proved  vain  and  hopeless. 

In  1711  Pope  produced  that  poem  which  at  once  placed 
him  on  the  highest  eminence  of  fame,  "  The  Rape  of  the 
Lock."  It  was  founded  on  fact,  and  was  good-naturedly 
meant  to  reconcile  friends  who  had  quarrelled.  In  the 
second  edition  he  rendered  the  poem  a  masterpiece  of  its 
kind,  by  the  delicate  and  playful  machinery  of  the  sylphs. 
Addison  advised  him  not  to  venture  on  this  elegant  and 
fanciful  addition  to  the  original,  but  Pope  clung  to  his  idea 
with  the  tenacity  of  genius,  and,  finally,  finding  it  success- 
ful, suspected  the  cautious  critic  of  jealousy,  and  of  a  wish 
to  prevent  him  (Pope)from  taking  a  high  place  in  literature. 

"  The  20th  of  September,  1714,  was  distinguished,"  says 
Bowles,  "by  the  coronation  of  George  the  First.  On  this 
occasion  the  following  verses  (Epistle  to  Miss  Blount)  were 
written,  generally  understood  (and  so  given  out  by  Pope)  as 

addressed  to  Martha  Blount "     They  were, 

however,  really  addressed  to  her  sister  Teresa,  who  at  that 
time  was  thought  a  reigning  beauty  in  London. 

In  the  quaint  fashion  of  the  age,  Teresa  Blount  had  for 
some  years  corresponded  with  a  Mr.  James  Moore — after- 
wards he  took  the  name  in  addition  of  Smythe  or  Smith — as 
Zephalinda,  the  gentleman  rejoicing  in  the  no/i  de  plume  of 
Alexis,  while  Martha  was  called  Parthenia.  The  names> 


MEMOIR  OF  POPE.  11 

therefore,  in  the  epistle,  prove  that  it  was  sent  to  Teresa  ; 
and  the  fact  of  her  friendship  or  flirtation  with  Mr.  Moore 
Smythe,  explains  why  so  insignificant  a  writer  as  he  was 
should  havre  had  a  place  in  the  "  Dunciad."  About  this  time 
Pope  published  the  "  Temple  of  Fame,"  an  imitation  of 
Chaucer;  and  in  1712  "  Windsor  Forest." 

Hitherto  he  had  earned  fame,  but  not  much  pecuniary 
profit  from  his  poetry,  and  his  father's  steadily  diminishing 
hoard  in  the  chest  only  allowed  the  old  gentleman  to  give 
his  gifted  son  a  small  allowance.  Pope  said  that  he  wanted 
money  even  to  buy  books.  Possessing  in  a  great  degree  the 
common  sense  which  accompanies  the  higher  development 
of  .genius,  he  resolved  to  endeavour  to  achieve  an  independ- 
ence for  himself. 

He  therefore  solicited  a  subscription  to  an  intended  transla- 
tion of  "  Homer's  Iliad."  In  1688,  Milton's  "  Paradise  Lost " 
had  been  published  with  great  success,  in  folio,  by  subscrip- 
tion, under  the  patronage  of  Lord  Somers;  Dry  den's  "  Virgil" 
had  been  readily  subscribed  for  also;  Pope  trusted,  there- 
fore, that  the  popularity  he  had  already  attained  would  stand 
him  in  good  stead:  and  it  did.  He  obtained  a  very  full  list 
of  subscribers  for  a  folio  edition  in  six  volumes  at  a  guinea 
apiece.  Bernard  Lintot,  the  great  bookseller,  purchased  the 
copyright  of  the  work  at  a  liberal  price,  and  Pope  gained 
altogether  £5,320  by  the  translation  of  the  •"  Iliad."  He 
secured  with  this  money  annuities  on  his  life,  which  raised 
him  above  pecuniary  anxieties  in  the  future.  His  whole  in- 
come is  said  to  have  been  about  £800  a  year.  Broome  and 
Jortin  assisted  him  with  the  notes  to  the  "  Iliad;"  and  his 
friend  Parnell  wrote  the  life  of  Homer,  but  Pope  altered  and 
improved  it.  He  is  said  to  have  been  assisted  greatly  in 
his  work  by  Chapman's  admirable  translation,  and  also  by 
Latin  versions  of  the  great  Greek  poet.  Pope  received  an  offer, 
while  engaged  on  the  work,  of  a  pension  of  £300  a  year  from 
Mr.  Craggs;  who  was  then  Secretary  of  State;  but  he  de- 
clined it. 

The  publication  of  the  "  Iliad"  placed  him  at  the  acme  of 
his  reputation;  but  it  cost  him  the  friendship  of  Addison,  of 
which  he  had  long  been  proud.  The  origin  of  the  quarrel 
was  the  production  by  Tickell — a  protege  and  friend  of  Ad- 
dison's — of  a  rival  *'  Iliad,"  the  same  year  that  Pope  pub- 
lished his  first  volume.  This  translation  was  greatly  puffed 
by  Addison  and  his  friends — Addison  saying  that  * '  Tickell 
had.  more  of  Homer"  than  Pope,  and  that  his  (Tickell's)  was 
the  best  translation  ever  published. 

The  world,  however,  decided  against  his  opinion  in  this 
matter  as  it  had  previously  with  regard  to  the  ' '  Rape  of  the 
Lock."  The  other  circumstances  of  their  quarrel  are  thus 
related  by  Pope: — 

"The  "author  of  the  'Pastorals'  already  mentioned, 
Philips,  seemed  to  have  been  encouraged  to  abuse  me  in 
coffee-houses  and  conversations:  and  Gildon  wrote  a  thing 
about  Wycherley,  in  which  he  had  abused  both  me  and  my 
relations  very  grossly,  Lord  Warwick" — 


12  MEMOIR  OF  POPE. 

law — "  himself  told  me  one  day,  that  it  was  in  vain  for  me 
to  endeavour  to  be  well  with  Mr.  Addison;  that  his  jealous 
temper  would  never  admit  of  a  settled  friendship  between 
us.  and,  to  convince  me  of  what  he  had  said,  assured  me, 
that  Addison  had  encouraged  Gildon  to  publish  those  scan- 
dals, and  had  given  him  ten  guineas  after  they  were  pub- 
lished. The  next  day,  while  I  was  heated  with  what  1  had 
heard,  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Addison,  to  let  him  know  that 
I  was  not  unacquainted  with  this  behaviour  of  his  ;  that,  if  I 
was  to  speak  severely  of  him  in  return  for  it,  it  should  not 
be  in  such  a  dirty  way;  that  I  should  rather  tell  him,  him- 
self, fairly  of  his  faults,  and  allow  his  good  qualities;  and 
that  it  should  be  something  L\  the  following  manner;  I  then 
adjoined  the  first  sketch  of  what  has  since  been  called  my 
Satire  on  Addison.  Mr.  Addison  used  me  very  civilly  ever 
after." 

The  verses  on  Addison,  when  they  were  sent  to  Atterbury, 
were  considered  by  him  as  the  most  excellent  of  Pope's  per- 
formances; and  the  writer  was  advised,  since  he  knew.wrhere 
his  strength  lay,  not  to  suffer  it  to  remain  unemployed. 

Great  efforts  have  been  made  since  Dr.  Johnson  wrote  his 
charming  life  of  Pope,  to  defend  Addison  at  Pope's  expense. 
It  really  would  seem  as  if  some  ill-fairy  had  dowered  the 
poet  at  his  birth  with  the  power  of  making  enemies,  so  sav- 
agely was  he  abused  in  life;  so  bitterly  has  he  been  malig- 
ned since  his  death.  The  distance  of  a  century,  the  sanctity 
of  the  grave,  have  not  preserved  his  memory  from  evil 
speakers;  from  the  judgment  of  narrow-minded  men,  utterly 
unable  to  take  a  large  and  generous  view  of  this  wonderful 
— gifted — afflicted  genius.  What  would  they  have  been 
had  they  been  born  so  deformed — so  small — so  delicate  ? — 
had  they  lived  in  continual  pain  ?  Would  they  have  been 
half  as  generous,  or  at  all  better  tempered  than  the  poet  ? 

Nature  had  compensated  in  a  degree  for  his  infirmities  by 
granting  him  "the  precious  jewel"  of  poetic  genius;  but  he 
was  not  as  others  ! — he  could  not  even  dress  himself — he  wras 
never  wholly  free  from  pain — "his  life  was  one  long  dis- 
ease." He  was  scorned  by  one  woman,  who  herself  acknow- 
ledged having  laughed  at  him  when  he  spoke  to  her  of  the 
love  she  had  encouraged,  and  which  (however  sinful  on  his 
part)  deserved  at  least  pity,  towards  the  close  of  his  life  he 
bore  patiently  with  the  caprices  and  selfishness  of  another. 

Even  the  literary  success  of  the  mere  boy  raised  enemies 
against  him,  and  unhappily  he  was  keenly  sensitive,  and 
does  not  seem  to  have  possessed  that  thick-skinned  self-con- 
ceit, which  would  have  enabled  him  to  look  down  on  the  in- 
sects that  beset  him.  No  wonder  he  was  peevish — no  mar- 
vel that  he  used  the  mighty  weapon  of  defence  with  which 
he  was  endowed,  and  lashed  his  assailants  with  his  pen  ! 
As  one  reads  some  of  the  pitiless  abuse  of  him,  one  wishes 
that  he  could  have  put  his  posthumous  critics  in  a  new 
"  Dunciad."  But  we  wander  from  hi*  Memoir. 

Pope,  soon  after  the  publication  of  the  "Iliad,"  bought  a 
Villa  at  Twickenham  for  his  life,  and  removed  thither  witli 


MEMOIR  OF  POPE.  13 

his  father  and  mother,  to  whom  he  was  a  most  devoted  son; 
to  his  mother  especially,  whose  old  age  he  cherished  with 
the  tenderest  care  and  love. 

In  this  new  home  he  planted  vines  and  made  a  grotto,  and 
gathered  round  him  a  circle  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of 
the  age,  who  were  proud  to  call  him  friend, — and  here  his 
first  great  domestic  affliction  occurred;  he  lost  his  father  at 
the  age  of  74. 

In  1720,  he  was  presented  with  some  shares  in  the  South 
Sea  Company,  by  Craggs  and  another  friend,  Sir  Francis 
Child,  the  banker:  perhaps  also  he  purchased  some  himself. 
But  the  gigantic  bubble  burst,  and  Pope  congratulated  him- 
self that  he  had  not  previously  sold  his  shares;  and  enriched 
himself  at  the  expense  of  those  who  were  ruined.  In  1721 
he  published  his  friend  Parnell's  works,  with  an  exquisite 
Epistle  to  Lord  Oxford,  and  in  the  same  year  produced 
an  edition  of  Shakespeare.  In  this  he  was  thought  to  have 
failed,  and  never,  it  is  said,  reflected  on  it  afterwards  with- 
out vexation.  Theobald,  a  heavy  dull  man,  but  industrious, 
published  a  book  called  "Shakespeare  Restored,"  in  which 
he  pointed  out  the  poet-editor's  deficiencies  with  great 
insolence.  "Yet  Pope,"  says  Dr.  Johnson,  "was  the  first 
that  knew — at  least  the  first  who  told  how  texts  might 
be  improved,  .  .  .  ."  and  he  directed  public  attention  to 
Shakespeare's  works  (which  had  then  been  but  little  read)  by 
his  elegant  preface,  in  which  he  drew  the  great  dramatist's 
character  admirably.  Soon  after  this  editing,  Pope  published 
a  translation  of  the  "  Odyssey,"  also  by  subscription.  In  this 
work  he  was  materially  assisted  by  Fenton  and  Broome.  In 
his  proposals  for  the  work,  he  announces  that  the  subscrip- 
tion was  not  solely  for  his  own  use,  but  for  that  also  of  two 
of  his  friends  who  had  assisted  him  in  the  work.  Of  the 
"Odyssey"  he  translated  only  twelve  books;  the  others  were 
done  by  Fenton  and  Broome. 

The  publication  of  it  introduced  to  him  a  friend  who 
continued  faithful  to  his  last  hours.  Spence,  prelector 
of  poetry  at  Oxford,  wrote  a  criticism  on  the  new  translation. 
It  was  just,  but  fair.  Pope,  who  in  him  for  the  first  time 
found  a  candid  critic,  sought  his  acquaintance,  and  they 
were  much  and  familiarly  together  for  the  future. 

In  1723  he  suffered  great  sorrow  through  the  exile  of  his 
friend  Atterbury,  Bishop  of  Rochester,  to  whom  he  was 
very  much  attached,  and  who  had  endeavoured  to  win  him 
over  to  the  Church  of  England.  His  letters  to  Atterbury  are 
full  of  tenderness  anl  gratitude.  "Perhaps,"  he  says,  "it 
is  not  only  in  this  world  that  I  shall  have  cause  to  remember 
the  Bishop  of  Rochester." 

In  1727  he  joined  his  friend  Swift  in  publishing  three 
volumes  of  "  Miscellanies." 

In  1728,  (following  Atterbury's  advice  "to  write  satires") 
he  published  the  "Dunciad."  Of  the  first  edition,  his  old 
antagonist  Theobald  was  the  hero;  in  a  future  one  he  gave 
the  place  to  Colley  Gibber. 

The  poem  has  ceased  to  have  any  interest  save  as  a 


U  MEMOIR  OF  POPE. 

curiosity.  The  "  Dunces "  were  not  worth  remembering, 
and  have  all  sunk  into  oblivion,  being  preserved  only  like 
flies  in*  amber  by  the  poet's  genius.  In  this  the  "  Dunciad" 
greatly  differs  from  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers," 
the  heroes  of  which  ranked  (some  of  them)  as  high  as  their 
satirist. 

In  1731  he  published  the  first  of  his  "Moral  Essays" — 
"On  Taste.'" 

He  criticises  in  it  the  false  taste  of  ostentation  in  the 
character  of  Timon — by  whom  he  was  supposed  to  have 
meant  the  Duke  of  Chandos.  An  outcry  was  instantly  raised 
against  him,  * '  that  he  had  received  a  thousand  pounds  and 
great  hospitality  from  the  Duke,  and  had  thus  repaid  him." 
But  Pope  publicly  denied  having  ever  received  the  money, 
and  wrote  an  explanatory  letter  to  the  Duke. 

In  1733  he  published  the  first  part  of  the  "  Essay  on  Man," 
anonymously.  It  sold  well,  and  the  second  and  third  epistles 
then  appeared.  At  last,  in  1734,  he  publicly  avowed  him- 
self its  author.  Crousaz,  a  Swiss  professor  of  very  serious 
views,  happened  to  read  Resuel's  French  translation  of  the 
epistle,  and  condemned  it  as  leading  to  infidelity;  it  was 
defended  by  Warburton,  a  man  of  great  learning  and 
a  clergyman.  Pope  was  delighted  at  being  vindicated  from 
the  suspicion  of  having  written  against  revelation;  and 
formed  in  consequence  a  warm  and  lasting  friendship  with 
Warburton.  He  introduced  his  champion  to  Mr.  Murray, 
through  whose  influence  he  became  preacher  at  Lincoln's  Inn; 
and  to  Mr.  Allen,  who  gave  Warburton  his  niece  in  marriage, 
and  finally  left  him  his  estate.  Warburton  became  Bishop 
of  Gloucester.  Pope  left  him  also  the  property  of  his  works, 
which  Dr.  Johnson  estimates  at  four  thousand  pounds. 
Bolingbroke  was  supposed  to  have  given  Pope  the  idea  of 
the  "  Essay  on  Man/'  and  his  suspected  infidel  principles  led 
to  a  distrust  of  the  aim  of  the  poem.  But  we  are  assured 
that  Bolingbroke  carefully  concealed  his  real  opinions  from 
his  friend. 

The  "  Moral  Essays"  followed  the  "  Essay. on  Man." 

Horace  Walpole  tells  a  scandalous  story  of  the  Duch- 
ess of  Marlborough  having  given  Pope  a  thousand 
pounds  to  withhold  the  character  of  Atossa — which  she  re- 
cognised as  her  own — from  the  epistle,  and  of  his  neverthe- 
less publishing  it  after  her  death.  But  there  is  actually  no 
certain  proof  of  the  truth  of  this  assertion,  and  the  Duchess's 
gift  of  a  thousand  pounds  was  probably  as  apocryphal  as  that 
of  the  Duke  of  Chandos  had  been  proved  to  be.  It  is  un- 
likely altogether  that  Pope,  who  prided  himself  on  his  inde- 
pendence— who  had  refused  a  pension  from  Craggs — and  lost 
the  patronage  of  the  powerful  Lord  Halifax  by  not  dedicat- 
ing the  "  Iliad  "  to  him — would  condescend  to  a  bribe — even, 
as  is  suggested,  at  the  instigation  of  Martha  Blount,  his 
favourite  friend  ;  nor  is  it  very  likely  that  the  avaricious 
Duchess  would  have  offered  it.  In  English  fairness  we 
ought  to  give  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  to  a  man  whose  strict 
integrity  has  been  generally  acknowledged  j  but  whom  such 


MEMOIR  OF  POPE.  1$ 

At  fourteen  he  made  a  version  of  the  first  book  of  the 
"Thebais"of  Statius;  he  translated  also  the  epistle  from 
Sappho  to  Phaon — from  Ovid — and  modernised  Chaucer's 
"  January  and  May,"  and  "Prologue  to  the  Wife  of  Bath." 
At  fourteen,  also,  he  wrote  his  poem  on  "Silence,"  in  imita- 
tion of  Lord  Rochester's  ' '  Nothing. " 

The  "JPastorals"  were  published  in  1790;  and  the  same 
year  he  wrote  the  "Essay  on  Criticism."  In  1711  Pope  pro- 
duced "The  Rape  of  the  Lock,"  which  placed  him  on  the 
highest  eminence  of  fame. 

In  1727  he  joined  his  friend  Swift  in  publishing  three 
volumes  of  Miscellanies ;  and  the  following  year  he  published 
"TheDunciad." 

In  1733  he  published  the  first  part  of  the  "Essay  on  Man," 
anonymously,  which  was  followed  by  "Moral  Essays." 
.Between  1730  and  1740,  Pope  published  the  "Satires  id 
Imitation  of  Horace."  He  also  produced  a  revival  of  Dr. 
Donne's  "  Satires,"  in  smoother  verse.  These  publications 
were  followed  by  the  "Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbutlmot,"  in  which 
is  the  character  of  Atticus  that  he  had  so  long  before  sent  to 
Addison. 

It  is  time  now  to  say  something  about  tlie  two  loves  or 
female  friendships  of  Pope's  life. 

In  1716  he  became  acquainted  with  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu,  a  beautiful  woman  of  great  genius,  and  very  un- 
conventional manners.  Accustomed  only  to  the  society  of 
the  homely  ordinary  women  of  his  own  class — to  "  vixenish" 
Teresa,  or  dull  Martha  Blount — both  of  whom  had  rather 
taken  his  young  fancy,  Lady  Mary  must  have  been  a  very 
dazzling  vision  to  the  poet.  She  was  attracted  by  his  fame, 
and  probably  also  by  his  conversation,  and  they  became 
friends.  She  accompanied  her  husband,  Mr.  Montagu,  to 
Constantinople,  whither  he  had  been  sent  as  ambassador, 
and  during  her  absence  corresponded  with  Pope,  who  sent 
for  her  perusal  his  "  Epistle  from  Eloi'sa  to  Abelard  ;"  at  the 
close  of  which  he  hinted  at  his  own  feelings. 

On  her  return,  Lady  Mary  went  to  reside,  at  his  request, 
at  Twickenham,  and  here  they  quarrelled.  She  is  said  to 
have  acknowledged  that  he  made  professions  of  love  to  her, 
and  that  she  laughed  in  his  face,  a  strange  way  of  treating 
such  wicked  folly ;  and  cruel  also,  as  the  offender  was  so 
sadly  deformed  and  dwarfish ;  the  offended  poet  never  for- 
gave her ;  and  certainly  behaved  very  badly  in  treating  her 
with  contempt  in  his  "  Essay  on  Woman."  ' 

Lord  Hervey,  a  great  friend  of  the  lady's,  and  Lady  Mary 
herself,  attacked  him  in  their  turn  with  great  bitterness, 
and  the  feud  raged  between  them  with  grave  faults  on  both 
sides. 

Teresa  Blount  had  already  scorned  the  more  youthful 
homage  of  Pope  ;  probably  no  woman  would  have  cared  to 
marry  him ;  but  with  Martha  he  formed  a  warm  Platonic 
friendship,  much  resembling  that  which  existed  between 
Cowper  and  Mrs.  Unwin — only  Pope  (who  we  are  not  aware 
•was  ever  engaged  to  be  married  to  Miss  Blount,  as  Cowper 


16  MEMOIR  OF  POPE. 

was  to  Mrs.  Unwin)  was  slandered  as  well  as  tlie  lady,  while 
Cowper  was  suffered  to  enjoy  a  woman's  friendship  without 
blame.  In  both  instances  a  tender  female  friend  was  espe- 
cially required.  The  one  poet  physically  so  weak,  and  with 
few  or  no  female  relatives — a  man  whose  life  was  full  of 
bodily  suffering ;  and  the  other  mentally  afflicted.  Put 
Pope,  less  happy  than  his  brother  poet,  is  said  not  to  have 
found  the  full  comfort  in  Martha  Blount's  friendship  that 
Cowper  did  in  Mary  Unwin's.  Martha  treated  her  poet 
friend  with  great  unkindness.  Dr.  Johnson  tells  us: — 

"While*  he  was  yet  capable  of  amusement  and  conversa- 
tion, as  he  was  one  day  sitting  in  the  air  with  Lord  Boling- 
broke  and  Lord  Marchrnont,  he  saw  his  favourite  Martha 
Blount  at  the  bottom  of  the  terrace,  and  asked  Lord  Boling- 
broke  to  go  and  hand  her  up.  Bolingbroke,  not  liking  his 
errand,  crossed  his  legs  and  sat  still ;  but  Lord  Marchmont, 
who  was  younger  and  less  captious,  waited  on  the  lady, 
who,  when  he  came  to  her,  asked — '  What,  is  he  not  dead 
yet?'  She  is  said  to  have  neglected  him,  with  shameful 
unkindness,  in  the  latter  time  of  his  decay;  yet,  of  the  little 
which  he  had  to  leave,  she  had  a  very  great  part.  Their 
acquaintance  began  early:  the  life  of  each  was  pictured  on 
the  other's  mind ;  their  conversation  therefore  was  endear- 
ing, for  when  they  met,  there  was  an  immediate  coalition  of 
congenial  notions.  Perhaps  he  considered  her  unwilling- 
ness to  approach  the  chamber  of  sickness  as  female  weak- 
ness, or  human  frailty;  perhaps  he  was  conscious  to  himself 
of  peevishness  and  impatience,  or,  though  he  was  offended 
by  her  inattention,  might  yet  consider  her  merit  as  over- 
balancing her  fault;  and,  if  he  had  suffered  his  heart  to  be 
alienated  from  her,  he  could  have  found  nothing  that  might 
have  filled  her  place;  he  could  have  only  shrunk  within 
himself;  it  was  too  late  to  transfer  his  confidence  or  fond- 
ness." 

From  the  same  writer  we  transcribe  the  closing  scenes  of 
Pope's  life  : — 

"  In  May,  1744,  his  death  was  approaching  ;  on  the  sixth, 
he  was  all  day  delirious,  which  he  mentioned  four  days 
afterwards  as  a  sufficient  humiliation  of  the  vanity  of  man; 
he  afterwards  complained  of  seeing  things  as  through  a 
curtain,  and  in  false  colours,  and  one  day,  in  the  presence  of 
Dodsley,  asked  what  arm  it  was  that  came  out  from  the 
wall.  He  said  that  his  greatest  inconvenience  was  inability 
to  think. 

"Bolingbroke  sometimes  wept  over  him  in  this  state  of 
helpless  decay,  and  being  told  by  Spence,  that  Pope,  at  the 
intermission  of  his  deliriousness,  was  always  saying  some- 
thing kind  either  of  his  present  or  absent  friends,  and  that 
his  humanity  seemed  to  have  survived  his  understanding, 
answered,  '  It  has  so.'  And  added,  '  I  never  in  my  life  knew 
a  man  that  had  so  tender  a  heart  for  his  particular  friends, 
or  more  general  friendship  for  mankind/  At  another  time 
he  said,  '  I  have  known  Pope  these  thirty  years,  and  value 
myself  more  in  his  friendship  than. ' — His  grief  then  sup- 
pressed liis  voice, 


MEMOIR  OF  POPE.  17 

"  Pope  expressed  undoubted  confidence  of  a  future  state. 
Being  asked  by  his  friend,  Mr.  Hooke,  whether  he  would 
not  die  like  his  father  and  mother,  and  whether  a  priest 
should  not  be  called,  he  answered,  '  I  do  not  think  it  essen- 
tial, but  it  will  be  very  right;  and  1  thank  you  for  putting 
me  in  mind  of  it.' 

"  In  the  morning,  after  the  priest  had  given  him  the  last 
sacraments,  he  said,  '  There  is  nothing  that  is  meritorious 
but  virtue  and  friendship,  and  indeed  friendship  itself  is 
only  a  part  of  virtue.' 

"  He  died  in  the  evening  of  the  thirtieth  day  of  May, 
1744,  so  placidly,  that  the  attendants  did  not  discern  the 
exact  time  of  his  expiration.  He  was  buried  at  Twickenham, 
near  his  father  and  mother,  where  a  monument  has  been 
erected  to  him  by  his  commentator,  Warburton,  Bishop  of 
Gloucester. " 

Thus  closed,  at  the  age  of  fifty-six,  the  life  of  a  poet  whose 
words  are  even  now — more  than  a  hundred  years  after  his 
death — the  expression  of  much  English  thought  and  feeling. 
Who  does  not  often  quote  or  see  quoted  those  almost  pro- 
verbial lines : — 

"  To  err  is  human;  to  forgive  divine." 

"A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing." 

"  Fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread." 

"  Man  never  is  but  always  to  be  blest." 

"  Worth  makes  the  man  and  want  of  it  the  fellow, 

The  rest  is  all  but  leather  and  prunella." 
**An  honest  man  's  the  noblest  work  of  God." 
"  Who  looks  through  Nature  up  to  Nature's  God." 
*'  The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul,"  &c.,  &c. 

Pope  was  the  best  of  sons  and  of  masters  ;  the  truest  and 
most  affectionate  of  friends — a  good  Christian — an  honest 
man. 

Out  of  £800  a  year,  he  gave  away  in  known  acts  of  charity 
£100. 

Johnson,  to  whose  Life  of  Pope  in  the  Chandos  Classics 
we  refer  the  reader,  tells  us: 

"Most  of  what  can  be  told  concerning  his  petty  peculiar- 
ities was  communicated  by  a  female  domestic  of  the  Earl  of 
Oxford,  who  knew  him  perhaps  after  the  middle  of  life. 
He  was  then  so  weak  as  to  stand  in  perpetual  need  of  female 
attendance;  extremely  sensible  of  cold,  so  that  he  wore  a 
kind  of  fur  doublet,  under  a  shirt  of  a  very  coarse  warm 
linen  with  fine  sleeves.  When  he  rose,  he  was  invested  in 
boddices  made  of  stiff  canvas,  being  scarcely  able  to  hold 
himself  erect  till  they  were  laced,  and  he  then  put  on  a  flan- 
nel waistcoat.  One  side  was  contracted.  His  legs  were  so 
slender,  that  he  enlarged  their  bulk  with  three  pair  of  stock- 
ings, whicU  were  drawn  on  and  of£  by  the  maid;  for  he  was 


18  MEMOIR  OF  POPE. 

not  able  to  dress  or  undress  himself,  and  neither  went  to  bed 
nor  rose  without  help.  His  weakness  made  it  very  difficult 
for  him  to  be  clean. 

"  His  hair  had  fallen  almost  all  away;  and  he  used  to  dine 
sometimes  with  Lord  Oxford,  privately  in  a  velvet  cap.  His 
dress  of  ceremony  was  black,  with  a  tie-wig,  and  a  .little 
sword. 

"  The  indulgence  and  accomodation  which  his  sickness  re- 
quired, had  taught  him  all  the  unpleasing  and  unsocial 
qualities  of  a  valetudinary  man.  He  expected  that  every 
thing  should  give  way  to  his  ease  or  humour;  as  a  child, 
whose  parents  will  not  hear  her  cry,  has  an  unresisted  do- 
minion in  the  nursery. 

*  C'est  que  1'enfant  toujours  est  homme, 
C'est  que  riiomme  est  toujours  enfant.' 

When  he  wanted  to  sleep  he  'nodded  in  company;'  and 
once  slumbered  at  his  own  table  while  the  Prince  of  Wales 
was  talking  of  poetry. 

Yet  the  maid  who  waited  on  him  said  that  she  cared  for 
no  wages  so  long  as  she  had  to  wait  on  Mr.  Pope — so  liberal 
was  he  to  his  attendants. 

Such  was  the  poet  of  whom  England  will  never  cease  to  be 
proud — the  poet  of  reason,  common  sense,  strict  morality, 
and  playful  fancy — her  worthy  son,  Alexander  Pope. 

Of  his  prose  writings  we  need  not  here  say  much.  He 
wrote  prose  with  elegance  and  clearness.  His  published  let- 
ters are  perhaps  too  much  studied  to  be  good,  but  they  were 
probably  written,  certainly  corrected,  with  a  view  to  publi 
cation,  though  the  act  of  a  needy  and  unscrupulous  woman 
first  brought  them  before  the  public. 

They  take  no  place  in  our  literature;  it  is  as  a  poet  only 
that  we  honour  Pope. 

Pope  was  attached  by  principle,  religion,  and  friendship,  to 
the  Tories;  he  loved  the  Stuarts,  and  had  no  reason  to  care 
for  the  Hanoverian  Sovereigns.  But  he  did  not  manifest 
any  strong  party  rancour.  He  had  friends  amongst  both  the 
Whigs  and  Tories:  and  Sir  Robert  Wai  pole  treated  him 
with  great  courtesy,  though  he  conferred  no  pecuniary  bene- 
fits upon  the  Catholic  poet. 


POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


PREFACE 

TO  THE   EDITION  OF   1716. 

I  AM  inclined  to  think  that  both  the  writers  of  books,  and 
the  readers  of  them,  are  generally  not  a  little  unreasonable  in 
their  expectations.  The  first  seem  to  fancy  that  the  world 
must  approve  whatever  they  produce,  and  the  latter  to  imag- 
ine that  authors  are  obliged  to  please  them  at  any  rate.  Me- 
thinks,  as  on  the  one  hand,  no  single  man  is  born  with  a  right 
of  controlling  the  opinions  of  all  the  rest ;  so  on  the  other, 
the  world  has  no  title  to  demand,  that  the  whole  care  and 
time  of  any  particular  person  should  be  sacrificed  to  its  enter- 
tainment. Therefore  I  cannot  but  believe  that  writers  and 
readers  are  under  equal  obligations,  for  as  much  fame,  or 
pleasure,  as  each  affords  the  other. 

Every  one  acknowledges,  it  would  be  a  wild  notion  to  ex- 
pect perfection  in  any  work  of  man ;  and  yet  one  would  think 
the  contrary  was  taken  for  granted,  by  the  judgment  com- 
monly passed  upon  poems.  A  critic  supposes  he  has  done  his 
part,  if  he  proves  a  writer  to  have  failed  in  an  expression,  er 
erred  in  any  particular  point :  and  can  it  then  be  wondered  at, 
if  the  poets  in  general  seem  resolved  not  to  own  themselves 
in  any  error  ?  For  as  long  as  one  side  will  make  no  allow- 
ances, the  other  will  be  brought  to  no  acknowledgments. 

I  am  afraid  this  extreme  zeal  on  both  sides  is  ill-placed ; 
poetry  and  criticism  being  by  no  means  the  universal  concern 
of  the  world,  but  only  the  affair  of  idle  men  who  write  in 
their  closets,  and  of  idle  men  who  read  there. 

Yet  sure  upon  the  whole,  a  bad  author  deserves  better  usage 
than  a  bad  critic ;  for  a  writer's  endeavour,  for  the  most  part 
is  to  please  his  readers,  and  he  fails  merely  through  the  mis- 
fortune of  an  ill-judgment ;  but  such  a  critic's  is  to  put  them 
out  of  humour ;  a  design  he  could  never  go  upon  without 
both  that  and  an  ill-temper. 

I  think  a  good  deal  may  be  said  to  extenuate  the  fault  of 
bad  poets.  What  we  call  a  genius,  is  hard  to  be  distinguished 
by  a  man  himself,  from  a  strong  inclination :  and  if  his  genius 
be  ever  so  great,  he  cannot  at  first  discover  it  any  other  way, 
than  by  giving  way  to  that  prevalent  propensity  which  ren- 
ders him  the  more  liable  to  be  mistaken.  The  only  method 
he  has,  is  to  make  the  experiment  by  writing,  and  appealing  to 
the  judgment  of  others.  Now,  if  he  happens  to  write  ill 
(which  is  certainly  no  sin  in  itself)  he  is  immediately  made 


18  PREFACE. 

an  object  of  ridicule.  I  wish  we  had  the  humanity  to  reflect 
that  even  the  worst  authors  might,  in  their  endeavor  to  please 
us,  deserve  something  at  our  hands.  We  have  no  cause  to 
quarrel  with  them  but  for  their  obstinacy  in  persisting  to 
write ;  and  this,  too,  may  admit  of  alleviating  circumstances. 
Their  particular  friends  may  be  either  ignorant,  or  insincere ; 
and  the  rest  of  the  world  in  general  is  too  wellbred  to  shock 
them  with  a  truth,  which  generally  their  booksellers  are  the 
first  that  inform  them  of.  This  happens  not  till  they  have 
spent  too  much  of  their  time,  to  apply  to  any  profession 
which  might  better  fit  their  talents ;  and  till  such  talents  as 
they  have  are  so  far  discredited  as  to  be  but  of  small  service 
to  them.  For  (what  is  the  hardest  case  imaginable)  the  rep- 
utation of  a  man  generally  depends  upon  the  first  steps  he 
makes  in  the  world,  and  people  will  establish  their  opinion  of 
us,  from  what  we  do  at  that  season  when  we  have  least  judg- 
ment to  direct  us. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  good  poet  no  sooner  communicates 
his  works  with  the  same  desire  of  information,  but  it  is  imag- 
ined he  is  a  vain  young  creature  given  up  to  the  ambition  of 
of  fame ;  when  perhaps  the  poor  man  is  all  the  while  tremb- 
ling with  the  fear  of  being  ridiculous.  If  he  is  made  to  hope 
he  may  please  the  world,  he  falls  under  very  unlucky  circum- 
stances :  for,  from  the  moment  lie  prints,  he  must  expect  to 
hear  no  more  truth,  than  if  he  were  a  prince,  or  a  beauty.  If 
he  has  not  very  good  sense  (and  indeed  there  are  twenty  men 
of  wit  for  one  man  of  sense)  his  living  thus  in  a  course  of 
flattery  may  put  him  in  no  small  danger  of  becoming  a  cox- 
comb :  if  he  has,  he  will  consequently  have  so  much  diffidence 
as  not  to  reap  any  great  satisfaction  from  his  praise ;  since,  if 
it  be  given  to  his  face,  it  can  scarce  be  distinguished  from 
flattery,  and  if  in  his  absence,  it  is  hard  to  be  certain  of  it. 
Were  he  sure  to  be  commended  by  the  best  and  most  know- 
ing, he  is  as  sure  of  being  envied  by  the  worst  and  most  ig- 
norant, which  are  the  majority ;  for  it  is  with  a  fine  genius, 
as  with  a  fine  fashion,  all  those  are  displeased  at  it  who  are 
not  able  to  follow  it ;  and  it  is  to  be  feared  that  esteem  will 
seldom  do  any  man  so  much  good,  as  ill-will  does  him  harm. 
Then  there  is  a  third  class  of  people  who  make  the  largest 
part  of  mankind,  those  of  ordinary  or  indifferent  capacities ; 
and  these  (to  a  man)  will  hate,  or  suspect  him :  a  hundred 
honest  gentlemen  will  dread  him  as  a  wit,  and  a  hundred  in- 
nocent women  as  a  satirist.  In  a  word,  whatever  be  his  fate 
in  poetry,  it  is  ten  to  one  but  he  must  give  up  all  the  reason- 
able aims  of  life  for  it.  There  are  indeed  some  advantages 
accruing  from  a  genius  t»  poetry,  and  they  are  all  I  can  think 
of :  the  agreeable  power  of  self -amusement  when  a  man  is  idle 
or  alone ;  the  privilege  of  being  admitted  into  the  best  com- 
pany ;  and  the  freedom  of  saying  as  many  careless  things  as 
other  people,  without  being  so  severely  remarked  upon. 

I  believe,  if  any  one,  early  in  his  life,  should  contemplate 
the  dangerous  fate  of  authors,  he  would  scarce  be  of  their 
number  on  any  consideration.  The  life  of  a  wit  is  a  warfare 
upon  earth  j  aud  the  present  spirit  of  the  learned  world  is 


PEEFACE.  19 

Such,  that  to  attempt  to  serve  it  (any  way)  one  must  have  the 
constancy  of  a  martyr,  and  a  resolution  to  suffer  for  its  sake. 
I  could  wish  people  would  believe  what  I  am  pretty  eertain 
they  will  not,  that  I  have  been  much  less  concerned  about 
fame  than  I  durst  declare  till  this  occasion,  when  methinks  I 
should  find  more  credit  than  I  couid  heretofore  :  since  my 
writings  have  had  their  fate  already,  and  it  is  too  late  to  think 
of  prepossessing  the  reader  in  their  favour.  I  would  plead  it 
as  some  merit  in  me,  that  the  world  has  never  been  prepared 
for  these  trifles  by  prefaces,  biassed  by  recommendations,  daz- 
zled with  the  names  of  great  patrons,  wheedled  with  fine 
reasons  and  pretences,  or  troubled  with  excuses.  I  confess  it 
was  want  of  consideration  that  made  me  an  author ;  I  writ 
because  it  amused  me ;  I  corrected  because  it  was  as  pleasant 
to  me  to  correct  as  to  write ;  and  I  published  because  I  was 
told  I  might  please  such  as  it  was  a  credit  to  please.  To  what 
degree  I  have  done  this,  I  am  really  ignorant ;  I  had  too  much 
fondness  for  my  productions  to  judge  of  them  at  first,  and 
too  much  judgment  to  be  pleased  with  them  at  last.  But  I 
have  reason  to  think  they  can  have  no  reputation  which  will 
continue  long,  or  which  deserves  to  do  so :  for  they  have  al- 
ways fallen  short  not  only  of  what  I  read  of  others,  but  even 
of  my  own  ideas  of  poetry. 

If  any  one  should  imagine  I  am  not  in  earnest,  I  desire  him 
to  reflect,  that  the  ancients  (to  say  the  least  of  them)  had  as 
much  genius  as  we ;  and  that  to  take  more  pains,  and  employ 
more  time,  cannot  fail  to  produce  more  complete  pieces.  They 
constantly  applied  themselves  not  only  to  that  art,  but  to  that 
single  branch  of  an  art,  to  which  their  talent  was  most  power- 
fully bent ;  and  it  was  the  business  of  their  lives  to  correct 
and  finish  their  works  for  posterity.  If  we  can  pretend  to 
have  used  the  same  industry,  let  us  expect  the  same  immor- 
tality. Though  if  we  took  the  same  care,  we  should  still  lie 
under  a  farther  misfortune ;  they  writ  in  languages  that  be- 
came universal  and  everlasting,  while  ours  are  extremely  lim- 
ited both  in  extent  and  in  duration.  A  mighty  foundation  for 
our  pride  I  when  the  utmost  we  can  hope,  is  but  to  be  read  in 
one  island,  and  to  be  thrown  aside  at  the  end  of  one  age. 

All  that  is  left  us  is  to  recommend  our  productions  by  the 
imitation  of  the  ancients :  and  it  will  be  found  true,  that,  in 
every  age,  the  highest  character  for  sense  and  learning  has 
bf^n  obtained  by  those  who  have  been  most  indebted  to  them, 
lor,  to  say  truth,  whatever  is  very  good  sense,  must  have 
been  common  sense  in  all  times ;  and  what  we  call  learning  is 
but  the  knowledge  of  the  sense  of  our  predecessors.  There- 
fore they  who  say  our  thoughts  are  not  our  own,  because  they 
resemble  the  ancients,  may  as  well  say  our  faces  are  not  our 
own,  because  they  are  like  our  fathers :  and  indeed  it  is  very 
unreasonable,  that  people  should  expect  us  to  be  scholars,  and 
yet  be  angry  to  find  us  so. 

I  fairly  confess  that  I  have  served  myself  all  I  could  by 
reading;  that  I  made  use  of  the^  judgment  of  authors  dead 
and  living  j  that  I  omitted  no  me*ans  in  my  power  to  be  in- 
formed of  my  errors,  both  by  my  friends  and  enemies ;  but 


20  PREPACK 

the  true  reason  these  pieces  are  not  more  correct,  is  owing  to 
the  consideration  how  short  a  time  they,  and  I,  have  to  live. 
One  may  be  ashamed  to  consume  half  one's  days  in  bringing 
sense  and  rhyme  together ;  and  what  critic  can  be  so  unreas- 
able  as  not  to  leave  a  man  time  enough  for  any  more  serious 
employment,  or  more  agreeable  amusement  ? 

The  only  plea  I  shall  use  for  the  favour  of  the  public,  is, 
that  I  have  as  great  a  respect  for  it,  as  most  authors  have  for 
themselves ;  and  that  I  have  sacrificed  much  of  my  own  self- 
love  for  its  sake,  in  preventing  not  only  many  mean  things 
from  seeing  the  light,  but  many  which  I  thought  tolerable.  I 
would  not  be  like  those  authors,  who  forgive  themselves 
some  particular  lines  for  the  sake  of  a  whole  poem,  and  vice 
versa  a  whole  poem  for  the  sake  of  some  particular  lines.  I 
-  believe  no  one  qualification  is  so  likely  to  make  a  good  writer, 
as  the  power  of  rejecting  his  own  thoughts ;  and  it  must  be 
this  (if  anything)  that  can  give  me  a  chance  to  be  one.  For 
what  I  have  published,  I  can  only  hope  to  be  pardoned ;  but 
for  what  I  have  burned,  I  deserve  to  be  praised.  On  this  ac- 
count the  world  is  under  some  obligation  to  me,  and  owes  me 
the  justice  in  return,  to  look  upon  no  verses  as  mine  that  are 
not  inserted  in  this  collection.  And  perhaps  nothing  could 
make  it  worth  my  while  to  own  what  are  really  so,  but  to 
avoid  the  imputation  of  so  many  dull  and  immoral  things,  as 
partly  by  malice,  and  partly  by  ignorance,  have  been  ascribed 
to  me.  I  must  farther  acquit  myself  of  the  presumption  of 
having  lent  my  name  to  recommend  any  miscellanies  or  works 
of  other  men;  a  thing  I  never  thought  becoming  a  person 
who  has  hardly  credit  enough  to  answer  for  his  own. 

In  this  office  of  collecting  my  pieces,  I  am  altogether  un- 
certain, whether  to  look  upon  myself  as  a  man  building  a 
monument,  or  burying  the  dead. 

If  time  shall  make  it  the  former,  may  these  poems  (as  long 
as  they  last)  remain  as  a  testimony,  that  their  author  never 
made  his  talents  subservient  to  the  mean  and  unworthy  ends 
of  party  or  self-interest ;  the  gratification  of  public  prejudices, 
or  private  passions ;  the  flattery  of  the  undeserving,  or  the  in- 
sult of  the  unfortunate.  If  I  have  written  well,  let  it  be  con- 
sidered that  it  is  what  no  man  can  do  without  good  sense,  a 
quality  that  not  only'  renders  one  capable  of  being  a  good 
writer,  but  a  good  man.  And  if  I  have  made  any  acquisition 
in  the  opinion  of  any  one  under  the  notion  of  the  former,  let 
it  be  continued  to  me  under  no  other  title  than  that  of  the 
latter. 

But  if  this  publication  be  only  a  more  solemn  funeral  of  my 
remains,  I  desire  that  it  may  be  known  that  I  die  in  charity, 
and  in  my  senses ;  without  any  murmurs  against  the  justice 
of  this  age,  or  any  mad  appeals  to  posterity.  I  declare  I  shall 
think  the  world  in  the  right,  and  quietly  submit  to  every 
truth  which  time  shail  discover  to  the  prejudice  of  these 
writings ;  not  so  much  as  wishing  so  irrational  a  thing  as  that 
everybody  should  be  deceived  merely  for  my  credit.  How- 
ever, I  desire  it  may  then  be  considered,  that  there  are  very 
few  things  In  this  cpllegtion,  which  were  not  written, 


PREFACE.  21 

the  age  of  five  and  twenty :  so  that  my  youth  may  be  made 
(as  it  never  fails  to  be  in  executions)  a  case  of  compassion. 
That  I  was  never  so  concerned  about  my  works  as  to  vindi- 
cate them  in  print,  believing,  if  anything  was  good,  it  would 
defend  itself,  and  what  was  bad  could  never  be  defended. 
That  I  used  no  artifice  to  raise  or  continue  a  reputation,  de- 
preciated no  dead  author  I  was  obliged  to,  bribed  no  living 
one  with  unjust  praise,  insulted  no  adversary  with  ill  lan- 
guage ;  or  when  I  could  not  attack  a  rival's  works,  encouraged 
reports  against  his  morals.  To  conclude,  if  this  volume  per- 
ish, let  it  serve  as  a  warning  to  the  critics,  not  to  take  too 
much  pains  for  the  future  to  destroy  such  things  as  will  die 
of  themselves ;  and  a  memento  mori  to  some  of  my  vain  con- 
.  temporaries  the  poets,  to  teach  them  that,  when  real  merit  is 
wanting,  it  avails  nothing  to  have  been  encouraged  by  the 
great,  commended  by  fc^e  eminent,  and  favoured  by  the  pub- 
lic in  general. 

v.  10,  1716. 


PASTORAL  POEMS, 

WITH   A   DISCOURSE    ON    PASTORAL. 

WRITTEN  IN  THE  YEAR  1704.     PUBLISHED  1709. 

Bura  mihi  et  rigui  placeant  in  vallibus  amnes, 
Flumina  amein,  sylvasque,  inglorius !—  Virg. 


A  DISCOURSE  ON  PASTORAL  POETRY.1 

THERE  are  not,  I  believe,  a  greater  number  of  any  sort  of 
verses  than  of  those  which  are  called  pastorals ;  nor  a  smaller, 
than  of  those  which  are  truly  so.  It  therefore  seems  neces- 
sary to  give  some  account  of  this  kind  of  Poem,  and  it  is  my 
design  to  comprise  in  this  short  paper  the  substance  of  those 
numerous  dissertations  the  critics  have  made  on  the  subject, 
without  omitting  any  of  their  rules  in  my  own  favour. 
You  will  also  find  some  points  reconciled,  about  which  they 
seem  to  differ,  and  a  few  remarks,  which,  I  think,  have  es- 
caped their  observation. 

The  original  of  poetry  is  ascribed  to  that  age  which  suc- 
ceeded the  creation  of  the  world :  and  as  the  keeping  of 
flocks  seems  to  have  been  the  first  employment  of  mankind, 

1These  Pastorals  were  written  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  and  then  passed 
through  the  hands  of  Mr.  Walsh,  Mr.  Wycherley,  G.  Granville,  after- 
wards Lord  Lansdown,  Sir  William  Truiiibull,  Dr.  Garth,  Lord  Hali- 
fax, Lord  Somers,  Mr.  Mainwaring,  and  others.  All  these  gave  our 
author  the  greatest  encouragement,  and  particularly  Mr.  Walsh 
(whom  Mr.  Dryden  in  his  postscript  to  Virgil  calls  the  hest  critic  of 
his  age)  :  "The  author,"  says  he,  "seems  to  have  a  particular  genius 
for  this  kind  of  poetry,  and  a  judgment  that  much  exceeds  his  years. 
He  has  taken  very  freely  from  the  ancients.  But  what  he  has  inixed 
of  his  own  with  theirs  is  no  way  inferior  to  wnat  he  has  taken  from 
them.  It  is  not  flattery  at  all  to  say  that  Virgil  had  written  nothing 
so  good  at  his  age.  His  preface  is  very  judicious  and  learned."— Letter 
to  Mr.  Wycherley,  Ap.  1705.  The  Lord  Lansdown,  ahout  the  same  timei 
mentioning  the  youth  of  our  poet,  says  (in  a  printed  letter  of  the  char- 
acter of  Mr.  Wycherley)  that  "if  he  goes  on  as  he  has  begun  in  the 
pastoral  way,  as  Virgil  first  tried  his  strength,  we  may  hope  to  see 
English  poetry  vie  with  the  Roman,"  &c.  Notwithstanding  the  early 
time  of  their  production,  the  author  esteemed  these  as  the  most  cor- 
rect in  the  versification,  and  musical  in  the  numbers,  of  all  his  works. 
The  reason  for  his  labouring  them  into  so  much  softniess  was,  doubt- 
less, that  this  sort  of  poetry  derives  almost  its  whole  beauty  from  a 
natural  ease  of  thought  and  smoothness  of  verse :  whereas  that  of 
most  other  kinds  consists  in  the  strength  and  fulness  of  both.  In  a 
letter  of  his  to  Mr.  Walsh  about  this  time,  we  find  an  enumeration  of 
several  niceties  in  versification,  which  perhaps  have  never  been  strictly 
observed  in  any  English  poem,  except  in.  these  pastorals,  They  were 
not  printed  till  170&— Pope. 


JUVENILE  POEMS.  23 

the  most  ancient  sort  of  poetry  was  probably  pastoral.1  It  is 
natural  to  imagine,  that  the  leisure  of  those  ancient  shepherds 
admitting  and  inviting  some  diversion,  none  was  so  proper  to 
that  solitary  and  sedentary  life  as  singing ;  and  that  in  their 
songs  they  took  occasion  to  celebrate  their  own  felicity. 
From  hence  a  poem  was  invented,  and  afterwards  improved 
to  a  perfect  image  of  that  happy  time;  which  by  giving  us  an 
esteem  for  the  virtues  of  a  former  age,  might  recommend 
them  to  the  present.  And  since  the  life  of  shepherds  was  at- 
tended with  more  tranquility  than  any  other  rural  employ- 
ment, the  poets  chose  to  introduce  their  persons,  from  whom 
it  received  the  name  of  pastoral. 

A  pastoral  is  an  imitation  of  the  action  of  a  shepherd,  or 
one  considered  under  that  character.  The  form  of  this  imita- 
tion is  dramatic,  or  narrative,  or  mixed  of  both;2  the  fable 
simple,  the  manners  not  too  polite  nor  too  rustic ;  the  thoughts 
are  plain,  yet  admit  a  little  quickness  and  passion,  but  that 
short  and  flowing  :  the  expression  humble,  yet  as  pure  as  the 
language  will  afford;  neat,  but  not  florid;  easy,  and  yet 
lively.  In  short,  the  fable,  manners,  thoughts,  and  expres- 
sions are  full  of  the  greatest  simplicity  in  nature. 

The  complete  character  of  this  poem  consists  in  simpli- 
city,3 brevity,  and  delicacy;  the  two  first  of  which  render  an 
eclogue  natural,  and  the  last  delightful. 

If  we  would  copy  nature,  it  may  be  useful  to  take  this 
idea  along  with  us,  that  pastoral  is  an  image  of  what  they 
call  the  golden  age.  So  that  we  are  not  to  describe  our 
shepherds  as  shepherds  at  this  day  really  are,  but  as  they 
may  be  conceived  then  to  have  been  ;  when  the  best  of  men 
followed  the  employment.  To  carry  this  resemblance  yet 
farther,  it  would  not  be  amiss  to  give  these  shepherds  some 
skill  in  astronomy,  as  far  as  it  may  be  useful  to  that  sort  of 
life.  And  an  air  of  piety  to  the  gods  should  shine  through 
the  poem,  which  so  visibly  appears  in  all  the  works  of  anti- 
quity :  and  it  ought  to  preserve  some  relish  of  the  old  way  of 
writing  ;  the  connection  should  be  loose,  the  narrations  and 
descriptions  short,4  and  the  periods  concise.  Yet  it  is  not 
sufficient,  that  the  sentences  only  be  brief,  the  whole  eclogue 
should  be  so  too.  For  we  cannot  suppose  poetry  in  those 
days  to  have  been  the  business  of  men,  but  their  recreation  at 
vacant  hours. 

But  with  respect  to  the  present  age,  nothing  more  conduces 
to  make  these  composures  natural,  than  when  some  knowl- 
edge in  rural  affairs  is  discovered.5  This  may  be  made  to  ap- 
pear rather  done  by  chance  than  on  design,  and  sometimes  is 
best  shown  by  inference ;  lest  by  too  much  study  to  seem 
natural,  we  destroy  that  easy  simplicity  from  whence  arises 
the  delight.  For  what  is  inviting  in  this  sort  of  poetry  pro- 


1  Fontenelle's  Discourse  on  Pastorals.— Pope. 
8  Heiusius  in  Theoer, — Pope. 
3  Kapin,  de  Carin.    Past.    p.  2.— Pope. 

\*  Kapin,  Reflex,  sur  1* Art  Poet,  d  Arist;  p.  2.    Reflex  27.— Pope. 
*  Pref.  to  VU'g,  Past,  in  Drvd.  Virg— 


24  JUVENILE  POEMS. 

ceeds  not  so  much  from  the  idea  of  that  business,  as  of  the 
tranquility  of  a  country  life. 

We  must  therefore  use  some  illusion  to  render  a  pastoral 
delightful ;  and  this  consists  in  exposing  the  best  side  only  of 
a  shepherd's  life,  and  in  concealing  its  miseries. l  Nor  is  it 
enough  to  introduce  shepherds  discoursing  together  in  a 
natural  way :  but  a  regard  must  be  had  to  the  subject,  that  it 
contain  some  particular  beauty  in  itself,  and  that  it  be  differ- 
ent  in  every  eclogue.  Besides,  in  each  of  them  a  designed 
scene  or  prospect  is  to  be  presented  to  our  view,  which  should 
likewise  have  its  variety.  This  variety  is  obtained  in  a  great 
degree  by  frequent  comparisons,  drawn  from  the  most  agree- 
able objects  of  tftie  country ;  by  interrogations  to  things  inani- 
mate; by  beautiful  digressions,  but  those  short;  sometimes 
by  insisting  a  little  on  circumstances  •  and  lastly,  by  elegant 
turns  on  the  words,  which  render  the  numbers  extremely 
sweet  and  pleasing.  As  for  the  numbers  themselves,  though 
they  are  properly  of  the  heroic  measure,  they  should  be  the 
smoothest,  the  most  easy  and  flowing  imaginable. 

It  is  by  rules  like  these  that  we  ought  to  judge  of  pastoral. 
And  since  the  instructions  given  for  any  art  are  to  be  delivered 
as  that  art  is  in  perfection,  they  must  of  necessity  be  derived 
from  those  in  whom  it  is  acknowledged  so  to  be.  It  is  there- 
fore from  the  practice  of  Theocritus  and  Virgil  (the  only  un- 
disputed authors  of  pastoral),  that  the  critics  have  drawn  the 
foregoing  notions  concerning  it. 

Theocritus  excels  all  others  in  nature  and  simplicity.  The 
subjects  of  his  Idylia  are  purely  pastoral ;  but  he  is  not  so  ex- 
act to  his  persons,  having  introduced  reapers  and  fishermen2 
as  well  as  shepherds. 3  He  is  apt  to  be  too  long  in  his  descrip- 
tions, of  which  that  of  the  cup  in  the  first  pastoral  is  a  re- 
markable instance.  In  the  manners  he  seems  a  little  defec- 
tive, for  his  swains  are  sometimes  abusive  and  immodest,  and 
perhaps  too  much  inclining  to  rusticity ;  for  instance,  in  his 
fourth  and  fifth  Idylia.  But  it  is  enough  that  all  others  learnt 
their  excellencies  from  him,  and  that  his  dialect  alone  has  a 
secret  charm  in  it,  which  no  other  could  ever  attain. 

Virgil,  who  copies  Theocritus,  refines  upon  his  original : 
and  in  all  points  where  judgment  is  principally  concerned,  he 
is  much  superior  to  his  master.  Though  some  of  his  subjects 
are  not  pastoral  in  themselves,  but  only  seem  to  be  such,  they 
have  a  wonderful  vaiiety  in  them,  which  the  Greek  was  a 
stranger  to.  He  exceeds  him  in  regularity  and  brevity,  and 
falls  short  of  him  in  nothing  but  simplicity  and  propriety  of 
style ;  the  first  of  which  perhaps  was  the  fault  of  his  age, 
and  the  last  of  his  language. 

Among  the  moderns,  their  success  has  been  greatest  who 
have  most  endeavored  to  make  these  ancients  their  pattern. 

1  Fontenelle's  Disc,  on  Pastorals. — Pope. 

2  0EPI2TAI,  Idyl  x.,  and  AAIEI2,  Idyl  21.—  Pope.- 

3  The  tenth  and  twenty-first  idyl  here  alluded  to  contain  some  of  the 
most  exquisite  strokes  of  nature  and  poetry  anywhere  to  be  met  wirh. 
as  does  the  beautiful  description  of  the  carving  on  the  cup,  which 
indeed  is  not  a  cup, but  a  very  large  pastoral  vessel  or  cauldron,— r 
Warton. 


JUVENILE  POEMS.  25 

The  most  considerable  genius  appears  in  the  famous  Tasso, 
and  our  Spencer.  Tasso  in  his  "Aminta"  has  as  far  ex- 
celled all  the  pastoral  writers,  as  in  his  "  Gerusalemme"  he 
has  outdone  the  epic  poets  of  his  country.  But  as  this  piece 
seems  to  have  been  the  original  of  a  new  -sort  of  poem,1  the 
pastoral  comedy  in  Italy,  it  cannot  so  well  be  considered  as 
a  copy  of  the  ancients.  Spencer's  Calendar,  in  Mr.  Dryden's 
opinion,  is  the  most  complete  work  of  this  kind  which  any 
nation  has  produced  ever  since  the  time  of  Virgil.2  Not  but 
that  he  may  be  thought  imperfect  in  some  few  points.  His 
eclogues  are  somewhat  too  long,  if  we  compare  them  with 
the  ancients.  He  is  sometimes  too  allegorical,  and  treats  of 
matters  of  religion  in  a  pastoral  style,  as  the  Mantuan  had 
done  before  him.  He  has  employed  the  lyric  measure,  wrhich 
is  contrary  to  the  practice  of  the  old  poets.  His  stanza  is  not 
still  the  same,  nor  always  well  chosen.  The  last  may  be 
the  reason  his  expression  is  sometimes  not  concise  enough: 
for  the  tetrastic  has  obliged  him  to  extend  his  sense  to  the 
length  of  four  lines,  which  would  have  been  more  closely 
confined  in  the  couplet. 

In  the  manners,  thoughts,  and  characters,  he  comes  near 
to  Theocritus  himself;  though,  notwithstanding  all  the  care 
he  has  taken,  he  is  certainly  inferior  in  his  dialect;  for  the 
Doric  had  its  beauty  and  propriety  in  the  time  of  Theocritus; 
it  was  used  in  part  of  Greece,  and  frequent  in  the  mouths  of 
many  of  the  greatest  persons,  whereas  the  old  English  coun- 
try phrases  of  Spencer  were  either  entirely  obsolete  or 
spoken  only  by  people  of  the  lowest  condition.  As  there  is  a 
difference  betwixt  simplicity  and  rusticity,  so  the  expression 
of  simple  thoughts  should  be  plain,  but  not  clownish.  The 
addition  he  has  made  of  a  calendar  to  his  eclogues,  is  very 
beautiful;  since  by  this,  besides  the  general  moral  of  inno- 
cence and  simplicity,  which  is  common  to  other  authors  of 
pastoral,  he  has  one  peculiar  to  himself  ;  he  compares  human  ' 
life  to  the  several  seasons,  and  at  once  exposes  to  his  readers 
a  view  of  the  great  and  little  worlds,  in  their  various  changes 
and  aspects.  Yet  the  scrupulous  division  of  his  pastorals 
into  months,  has  obliged  him  either  to  repeat  the  same  descrip- 
tion in  other  words,  for  three  months  together ;  or,  when  it 
was  exhausted  before,  entirely  to  omit  it ;  whence  it  conies 
to  pass,  that  some  of  his  eclogues  (as  the  sixth,  eighth,  and 
tenth,  for  example)  have  nothing  but  their  titles  to  distin- 
guish them.  The  reason  is  evident,  because  the  year  has  not 
tthat  variety  in  it  to  furnish  every  month  with  a  particular 
description,  as  it  may  every  season. 

Of  the  following  eclogues  I  shall  only  say,  that  these  four 
comprehend  all  the  subjects  which  the  critics  upon  Theo- 
critus and  Virgil  will  allow  to  be  fit  for  pastoral :  that  they 
have  as  much  variety  of  description,  in  respect  of  the  several 
seasons,  as  Spencer's :  that  in  order  to  add  to  this  variety,  the 

1  The  "  Aramta"  of  Tasso  was  not  the  first  pastoral  drama  in  Ital- 
ian, "  II  Sacrificio  of  Agostino  Bccarei  was  the  first,  who  uoasty  of  it 
in  his  prologue,  and  who  died  very  old  ill  1590. —  Wctrton, 

2  Dedication  to  Virgil,  Eel,— o 


26  JUVENILE  POEMS. 

several  times  of  the  day  are  observed,  the  rural  employments 
in  each  season  or  time  of  day,  and  the  rural  scenes  or  places 
proper  to  such  employments ;  not  without  some  regard  to  the 
several  ages  of  man,  and  the  different  passions  proper  to  each 
age. 

But,  after  all,  if  they  have  any  merit  it  is  to  be  attributed 
to  some  good  old  authors,  whose  works  as  I  had  leisure  to 
study,  so  I  hope  I  have  not  wanted  care  to  imitate, 


JUVENILE  POEMS.  27 

SPRING. 
THE  FIRST  PASTORAL;   OR,  DAMON. 

TO    SIR   WILLIAM   TKUMBULL.1 

First  in  these  fields  I  try  the  sylvan  strains; 
Nor  blush  to  sport  on  Windsor's  blissful  plains : 
Fair  Thames,  flow  gently  from  thy  sacred  spring, 
While  on  thy  bank  Sicilian  muses  sing; 
Let  vernal  airs  through  trembling  osiers  play, 
And  Albion's  cliffs  resound  the  rural  lay. 

You,  that  too  wise  for  pride,  too  good  for  pow'r, 
Enjoy  the  glory  to  be  great  no  more, 
And  carrying  with  you  all  the  world  can  boast, 
To  all  the  world  illustriously  are  lost ! 
O  let  my  muse  her  slender  reed  inspire, 
Till  in  your  native  shades2  you  tune  the  lyre: 
So  when  the  nightingale  to  rest  removes, 
The  thrush  may  chant  to  the  forsaken  groves, 
But,  charmed  to  silence,  listens  while  she  sings, 
And  all  th'  aerial  audience  clap  their  wings. 

Soon  as  the  flock  shook  off  the  nightly  dews, 
Two  swains,  whom  love  kept  wakeful,  and  the  muse, 
Poured  o'er  the  whit'ning  vale  their  fleecy  care, 
Fresh  as  the  morn,  and  as  the  season  fair: 
The  dawn  now  blushing  on  the  mountain's  side, 
Thus  Daphnis  spoke,  and  Strephon  thus  replied. 

DAPHNIS. 

Hear  how  the  birds,  on  ev'ry  bloomy  spray, 
With  joyous  music  wake  the  dawning  day ! 


1  Our  author's  friendship  with  this  gentleman  commenced  at  very 
unequal  years;  he  was  under  sixteen,  but  Sir  William  above  sixty, 
and  had  lately  resigned  his  employment  of  Secretary  of  State  to  King 
William.— Pope. 

2  Sir  Wm.  Trumbull  was  born- in  Windsor  Forest  (1630),  to  which 
he  retreated  after  he  had  resigned  the  post  of  Secretary  o£  State  to 
Ring  William  III.    He  died  ih  1710,— fqpe. 


28  JUVENILE  POEMS. 

Why  sit  we  mute  when  early  linnets  sing, 
When  warbling  Philomel  salutes  the  spring? 
Why  sit  we  sad  when  Phosphor1  shines  so  clear, 
And  lavish  nature  paints  the  purple  year  ? 

STREPHON. 

Sing  then,  and  Damon  shall  attend  the  strain, 
While  yon  slow  oxen  turn  the  furrowed  plain. 
Here  the  bright  crocus  and  blue  vi'let  glow; 
Here  western  winds  on  breathing  roses  blow. 
I'll  stake  yon  lamb,  that  near  the  fountain  plays, 
And  from  the  brink  his  dancing  shade  surveys. 

DAPHNIS. 

And  I  this  bowl,  where  wanton  ivy  twines, 
And  swelling  clusters  bend  the  curling  vines  : 
Four  figures  rising  from  the  work  appear, 
The  various  seasons  of  the  rolling  year; 
And  what  is  that,  which  binds  the  radiant  sky, 
Where  twelve  fair  signs  in  beauteous  order  lie  ? 

DAMON. 

Then  sing  by  turns,  by  turns  the  muses  sing, 
Now  hawthorns  blossom,  now  the  daisies  spring, 
Now  leaves  the  trees,  and  flow'rs  adorn  the  ground, 
Begin,  the  vales  shall  ev'ry  note  rebound. 

STREPHON. 

Inspire  me,  Phoebus,  in  my  Delia's  praise 
With  Waller's  strains,  or  Granville's3  moving  lays ! 
A  milk-white  bull  shall  at  your  altars  stand, 
That  threats  a  fight,  and  spurns  the  rising  sand. 

DAPHNIS. 

O  Love!  for  Sylvia  let  me  gain  the  prize, 
And  make  my  tongue  victorious  as  her  eyes; 


1  Phosphor— the  planet  Venus  when  she  is  the  morning  star. 

2  Literally  from  Virgil,  Eclogue  III.:    "Alternis  dicetis:    amant 
alterna  Camoense.  Et  nunc  omnis  ager,  nunc  omnis  parturit  arbos : 
Nunc  frondent  sylvee,  nunc  formosissimus  annus."— Pope. 

3  George  Granville,  afterwards  Lord  Lansdown,  known  for  Ms 
poems,  most  of  which  he  composed  very  young,  and  proposed  Wal- 
lar  as  his  model.— Pope. 

"  Pascite  taurum, 
Qui  cornu  petat,  et  pedibus   jam  spargat  areaam."  Virg.  Eel,  iii. 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 

No  lambs  or  sheep  for  victims  I'll  impart, 
Thy  victim,  Love,  shall  be  the  shepherd's  heart 


STftEPHON. 


Me  gentle  Delia  beckons  from  the  plain, 
Then  hid  in  shades,  eludes  her  eager  swain. 
But  feigns  a  laugh,  to  see  me  search  around, 
And  by  that  laugh  the  willing  fair  is  found. 


DAPHNIS. 


The  sprightly  Sylvia  trips  along  the  green, 
She  runs,  but  hopes  she  does  not  unseen; 
While  a  kind  glance  at  her  pursuer  flies, 
How  much  at  variance  are  her  feet  and  eyes. 


STKEPHON. 


O'er  golden  sands  let  rich  Pactolus  flow, 
And  trees  weep  amber  on  the  banks  of  Po;1 
Blessed  Thames's  shores  the  brightest  beauties  yield, 
Feed  here  my  lambs,  I'll  seek  no  distant  field. 


DAPHNIS. 


Celestial  Venus  haunts  Idalia's  groves; 
Diana  Cynthus,  Ceres  Hybla  loves; 
If  Windsor  shades  delight  the  matchless  maid, 
Cynthus  and  Hybla  yield  to  Windsor  shade. 


STREPHON. 


All  nature  mourns,2  the  skies  relent  in  show'rs, 
Hushed  are  the  birds,  and  closed  the  drooping  flow'rs; 
If  Delia  smile,  the  flow'rs  begin  to  spring, 
The  skies  to  brighten,  and  the  birds  to  sing. 

DAPHNIS. 

All  nature  laughs,  the  groves  are  fresh  and  fair, 
The  sun's  mild  lustre  warms  the  vital  air; 
If  Sylvia  smiles,  new  glories  gild  the  shore, 
And  vanquished  nature  seems  to  charm  no  more. 

1  Phaeton's  sisters,  being  at  his  death  changed  into  poplars,  shed 
tears,  which,  according  to  the  classical  fable,  were  turned  to  drops 
pf  amber. 

2  Virgil,  Eel,  vii. : 

*•  Aret  ager,  vitio  moriens  sitit  aerisherba,  &c. 
fiiyllidis  adventu  nostrum  iiemua  iiime  virebit."— Pope, 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 

STKEPHON. 

In  spring  the  fields,  in  autumn  hills  I 
At  morn  the  plains,  at  noon  the  shady  grove, 
But  Delia  always;  absent  from  her  sight, 
Nor  plains  at  morn,  nor  groves  at  noon  delight. 

DAPHNIS. 

Sylvia's  like  autumn  ripe,  yet  mild  as  May, 
More  bright  than  noon,  yet  fresh  as  early  day; 
Ev'n  spring  displeases,  when  she  shines  not  here; 
But  blest  with  her,  'tis  spring  throughout  the  year. 

STREPHON. 

Say,  Daphnis,  say,  in  what  glad  soil  appears, 
A  wondrous  tree  that  sacred  monarchs  bears;1 
Tell  me  but  this,  and  I'll  disclaim  the  prize, 
And  give  the  conquest  to  thy  Sylvia's  eyes. 

DAPHNIS. 

Nay  tell  me  first,  in  what  more  happy  fields 
The  thistle  springs,  to  which  the  lily  yields;2 
And  then  a  nobler  prize  I  will  resign; 
For  Sylvia,  charming  Sylvia,  shall  be  thine. 

DAMON. 

Cease  to  contend,  for,  Daphnis,  I  decree 
The  bowl  to  Strephon,  and  the  lamb  to  thee. 
Blest  swains,  whose  nymphs  in  ev'ry  grace  excel; 
Blest  nymphs,  whose  swains  those  graces  sing  so  well ! 
Now  rise,  and  haste  to  yonder  woodbine  bow'rs, 
A  soft  retreat  from  sudden  vernal  show'rs, 
The  turf  with  rural  dainties  shall  be  crowned, 
While  op'ning  blooms  diffuse  their  sweets  around. 
For  see,  the  gath'ring  flocks  to  shelter  tend, 
And  from  the  Pleiads  fruitful  show'rs  descend. 

1  An  allusion  to  the  royal  oak,  in  which  Charles  II.  had  been  hid 
from  the  pursuit  after  the  battle  of  Worcester.— Pope. 

2  The  t\yo  riddles  are  in  imitation  of  those  in  Virg.    Eel.  III. : 

'•  Die  quibus  in  terris  inscripti  nomina  regum 
Nascantur  flores,  etPhyllida  solus  habeto." 

The  thistle  is  the  emblem  of  Scotland :  the  fleur-de-lis,  or  lily  of 
France, 


JUVENILE  POEMS. 


SUMMER. 
THE  SECOND  PASTORAL;  OR,  ALEXIS. 

TO  DR.  GRATH,1 

A  SHEPHERD'S  boy  (he  seeks  no  better  name) 
Led  forth  his  flocks  along  the  silver  Thame, 
Where  dancing  sunbeans  on  the  waters  played,2 
And  verdant  alders  formed  a  quiv'ring  shade. 
Soft  as  he  mourned,  the  streams  forgot  to  flow, 
The  flocks  around  a  dumb  compassion  show, 
The  Naiads  wept  in  ev'ry  wat'ry  bow'r, 
And  Jove  consented3  in  a  silent  shower. 

Accept,  O  Garth,  the  muse's  early  lays, 
That  adds  this  wreath  of  ivy  to  the  bays; 
Hear  what  from  love  unpractised  hearts  endure, 
From  love,  the  sole  disease  thou  canst  not  cure. 
Ye  shady  beeches,  and  ye  cooling  streams, 
Defence  from  Phoebus',  not  from  Cupid's  beams, 
To  you  I  mourn,  not  to  the  deaf  I  sin,4 
"  The  woods  shall  answer,  and  their  echoes  ring."5 
The  hills  and  rocks  attend  my  doleful  lay, 
Why  art  thou  prouder  and  more  hard  than  they  ? 
The  bleating  sheep  with  my  complaints  agree, 
They  parched  with  heat,  and  I  inflamed  with  thee. 
The  sultry  Sirius  burns  the  thirsty  plains, 
While  in  thy  heart  eternal  reigns. 

Where  stray  ye,  muses,  in  what  lawn  or  grove,6 

1  Dr.  Samuel  Garth,  author  of  the  "  Dispensary,"  was  one  of  the 
first  friends  of  the  author,  whoso  acquaintance  with  him  began  at 
foul-toon  or  fifteen.     Their  friendship  continued  from  the  year  1703 
to  1718,  which  was  that  of  his  death.—  Pope,. 

2  The  scene  of  this  pastoral  is  oy  the  river's  side;  suitable  to  the 
heat  of  the  season  ;  the  tinm  noon. — Pope.. 

3  "Jupiter  et  Ifieto  deseendet  plurimus  imbri." — Virg.  Eel.  VII. — 
Pope. 

4  "  Non  canimus  surd  is,  respondent  ornnia  sylvce."—  Virg.  Eel.  X, 
•-•Pope. 

6  A  line  from  Spencer's  "  Epithalamion. — Pope. 

6  "  Qua>  nomora,  aut,  qui  vos  sail  us  habuore,  puellse. 

Naiades,  iiidi^no  cum  GaMus  amore  pcriret? 

Nam  neque  Parnassi  vobi.s  juga,  nam  neque  Piiidl. 

TJlla  moram  ferore,  m-quo  Aonia  Aganippe," 
Virg.  Eel,  X,  i),  out  of  Tkww.--Po±>c. 


32  JUVENILE  POEMS. 

While  your  Alexis  pines  in  hopeless  love  ? 
In  those  fair  fields  where  sacred  Isis  glides, 
Or  else  where  Cam  his  winding  vales  divides  ? 
As  in  the  crystal  spring  I  view  my  face,1 
Fresh  rising  blushes  paint  the  wat'ry  glass; 
But  since  those  graces  please  thy  eyes  no  more, 
I  shun  the  fountains  which  I  sought  before. 
Once  I  was  skilled  in  ev'ry  herb  that  grew, 
And  ev'ry  plant  that  drinks  the  morning  dew; 
Ah,  wTetched  shepherd,  what  avails  thy  art, 
To  cure  thy  lambs,  but  not  to  heal  thy  heart ! 

Let  other  swains  attend  the  rural  care, 
Feed  fairer  flocks,  or  richer  fleeces  shear  : 
But  nigh  yon  mountain  let  me  tune  my  lays, 
Embrace  my  love,  and  bind  my  brows  with  bays 
That  flute  is  mine  which  Colin's2  tuneful  breath 
Inspired  when  living,  and  bequeathed  in  death.8 
He  said;  Alexis,  take  this  pipe,  the  same 
That  taught  the  groves  my  Rosalinda's  name: 
But  now  the  reeds  shall  hang  on  yonder  tree, 
For  ever  silent,  since  despised  by  thee. 
Oh !  were  I  made  by  some  transforming  pow'r 
The  captive  bird  that  sings  within  thy  bow'r ! 
Then  might  my  voice  thine  list'ning  ears  employ, 
And  I  those  kisses  he  receives,  enjoy. 

And  yet  my  numbers  please  the  rural  throng, 
Rough  satyrs  dance,  and  Pan4  applauds  the  song: 
The  nymphs,  forsaking  ev'ry  cave  and  spring, 
Their  early  fruit,  and  milk-white  turtles  bring; 
Each  am'rous  nymph  prefers  her  gifts  in  vain, 
On  you  their  gifts  are  all  bestowed  again. 
For  you  the  swains  the  fairest  flow'rs  design 
And  in  one  garland  all  their  beauties  join; 
Accept  the  wreath  which  you  deserve  alone, 
In  whom  all  beauties  are  comprised  in  one. 


1  Virgil  again  (Eel.  II.)  from  the  "  Cyclops  "  of  Theocritus, 

"  nuper  me  in  littore  vidi  " 

Cum  placidum  ventis  staret  mare,  non  ego  Daphnim, 
Judice  te,  metuam,  si  nunquam  fallit  imago." — Pope. 

2  The  name  taken  by  Spencer  in  his   "  Eclogues,"  where  his  mis- 
tress is  celebrated  under  that  of  Rosalinda.— Pope. 

3  "  Est  mihi  disparibus  septem  compacta  cicutis. 

Fistula,  Damoetas  dono  mihi  quam  dedit  olim, 
Et  dixit  moriens,  te  nunc    habet  ist  a   secundum."  —  Virg* 
Eel.  II. 

*  Pan  was  the  god  of  Shepherds. 


JUVENILE  POEMS.  33 

See  what  delights  in  sylvan  scenes  appear! 
Descending  gods  have  found  Elysium  here.1 
In  woods  bright  Venus  with  Adonis  strayed, 
And  chaste  Diana  haunts  the  forest  shade. 
Come,  lovely  nymph,  and  bless  the  silent  hours, 
When  swains  from  shearing  seek  their  nightly  bow'rs, 
When  weary  reapers  quit  the  sultry  field, 
And  crowned  with  corn  their  thanks  to  Ceres  yield. 
This  harmlese  grove  no  lurking  viper  hides, 
But  in  my  breast  the  serpent  love  abides. 
Here  bees  from  blossoms  sip  the  rosy  dew, 
But  your  Alexis  knows  no  sweets  but  you. 
Oh,  deign  to  visit  our  forsaken  seats, 
The  mossy  fountains,  and  the  green  retreats ! 
Where'er  you  walk,  cool  gales  shall  fan  the  glade; 
Trees,  where  you  sit,  shall  crowd  into  a  shade; 
Where'er  you  tread,  the  blushing  flow'rs  shall  rise, 
And  all  things  flourish  where  you  turn  your  eyes. 
Oh !  how  I  long  with  you  to  pass  my  days, 
Invoke  the  muses,  and  resound  your  praise ! 
Your  praise  the  birds  shall  chant  in  ev'ry  grove,2 
And  winds  shall  waft  it  to  the  powers  above,3 
But  would  you  sing,  and  rival  Orpheus'  strain, 
The  won'dring  forests  soon  should  dance  again; 
The  moving  mountains  hear  the  pow'rful  call, 
And  headlong  streams  hang  list'ning  in  their  fall ! 

But  see,  the  shepherd  s  shun  the  noonday  heat, 
The  lowing  herds  to  murm'ring  brooks  retreat, 
To  closer  shades  the  panting  flocks  remove; 
Ye  gods !  *  and  is  there  no  relief  for  love  ? 
But  soon  the  sun  with  milder  rays  descends 
To  the  cool  ocean,  where  his  journey  ends. 
On  me  love's  fiercer  flames  forever  prey, 
By  night  he  scorches,  as  he  burns  by  day. 


1  Virg.  Eel.  II. : 

"habitarunt  dii  quoque  sylvas." 
Eel.  X.  • 

"  Et  formosus  oves  ad  flumina  pavit  Adonis.  "—Pope. 

2  Your  praise  the  tuneful  birds  to  heaven  shall  bear, 
And  listening  wolves  grow  milder  as  they  hear. 

So  the  verses  were  originally  <Vi-itten.  But  the  author,  young  as 
he  was,  soon  found  the  absurdity  which  Spencer  himself  overlooked, 
of  introducing  wolves  into  England.— Pope. 

3  Virg.  Eel.  III. : 

"  Partem  aliquam,  venti,  divum  referatis  ad  aures." — Pope. 
*  Virg.  Eel.  II. : 
«'  Me  tameu  usit  amor,  quis  enim  modus  adsit  amori?"— 


34  JUVENILE  POEMS. 

AUTUMN.1 
THE   THIRD   PASTOKAL;   OB,  HYLAS   AND 


TO  MB.  WYCHERLEY. 

BENEATH  the  shade  a  spreading  beech  displays, 
Hylas  and  .ZEgon  sung  their  rural  lays, 
This  mourned  a  faithless,  that  an  absent  love, 
And  Delia's  name  and  Doris'  filled  the  grove. 
Ye  Mantuan  nymphs,  your  sacred  succour  bring; 
Hylas  and  .ZEgon's  rural  lays  I  sing. 

Thou,  whom  the  Nine,  with  Plautus'  wit  inspire,2 
The  art  of  Terence  and  Menander's  fire; 
Whose  sense  instruct  us,  and  whose  humour  charms, 
Whose  judgment  sways  us,  and  whose  spirit  w^arms! 
Oh,  skilled  in  nature !  see  the  hearts  of  swains, 
Their  artless  passions,  and  their  tender  pains. 

Now  setting  Phoebus  shone  serenely  bright, 
And  fleecy  clouds  were  streaked  with  purple  light; 
When  tuneful  Hylas  with  melodious  moan, 
Taught  rocks  to  weep  and  made  the  mountains  groan, 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away ! 
To  Delia's  ear  the  tender  notes  convey. 
As  some  sad  turtle  his  lost  love  deplores. 
And  with  deep  murmurs  fills  the  sounding  shores; 
Thus,  far  from  Delia,  to  the  winds  I  mourn, 
Alike  unheard,  unpitied,  and  forlorn. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  along ! 
For  her,  the  feathered  choirs  neglect  their  song; 
For  her,  the  limes  their  pleasing  shades  deny; 
For  her,  the  lilies  hang  their  heads,  and  die. 
Ye  flowers  that  droop,  forsaken  by  the  spring, 
Ye  birds  that,  left  by  summer,  cease  to  sing, 

1  This  pastoral  consists  of  two   parts,  like  the  8th  of  Virgil ;  the 
scene,  a  hill;   tho  time,  at  sunset.— Pope. 

2  Mr.  Wycherley,  a  famous  author  of  comedies;  of  which  the  most 
celebrated  were  the  "  Plain  Dea.ler  "  and  "  Country  Wife."    Ho  was 
a  writer  or  infinite  spirit,  satire,  and  wit.    The  only  objection  made 
to  him  was  that  he  had  too  much.    However  he  was  followed  in  tho 
same  way  by  Mr.  Congreve;  though  with,  a  little  more  correctness, 
— fope. 


JUVENILE  POEMS.  35 

Ye  trees  that  fade,  when  autumn  heats  remove, 
Say,  is  not  absence  death  to  those  who  love  ? 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away ! 
Cursed  be  the  fields  that  cause  my  Delia's  stay; 
Fade  ev'ry  blossom,  wither  ev'ry  tree, 
Die  ev'ry  flower,  and  perish  all,  but  she. 
What  have  I  said  ?  where'er  my  Delia  flies,  \ 
Let  spring  attend,  and  sudden  flow'rs  arise; 
Let  op'ning  roses  knotted  oaks  adorn,1 
And  liquid  amber  drop  from  ev'ry  thorn. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  along ! 
The  birds  shall  cease  to  tune  their  ev'ning  song, 
The  winds  to  breathe,  the  waving  woods  to  move, 
And  streams  to  murmur,  ere  I  cease  to  love. 
Not  bubbling  fountains  to  the  thirsty  swain,2 
Not  balmy  sleep  to  lab'rers  faint  with  pain, 
Not  show'rs  to  larks,  nor  sunshine  to  the  bee, 
Are  half  so  charming  as  thy  sight  to  me. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away ! 
Come,  Delia,  come;  ah,  why  this  long  delay? 
Through  rocks  and  caves  the  name  of  Delia  sounds, 
Delia,  each  cave  and  echoing  rock  rebounds. 
Ye  powers,  what  pleasing  frenzy  soothes  my  mind ! 
Do  lovers  dream,  or  is  my  Delia  kind  ?3 
She  comes,  my  Delia  comes ! — Now  cease  my  lay, 
And  cease,  ye  gales,  to  bear  my  sighs  away ! 

Next  JEgon  sung,  while  Windsor  groves  admired; 
Rehearse,  ye  muses,  what  yourselves  inspired. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strain ! 
Of  perjured  Doris,  dying  I  complain: 
Here,  where  the  mountains  less'ning  as  they  rise 
Lose  the  low  vales,  and  steal  into  the  skies: 
While  lab'ring  oxen,  spent  with  toil  and  heat, 
In  their  loose  traces  from  the  field  retreat: 
While  curling  smokes  from  village  tops  are  seen, 
And  the  fleet  shades  glide  o'er  the  dusky  green. 


1  Virg.  Eel.  VIII. : 

"Aureadurae. 

Mala  ferant  puercus,  narcisso  floreat  alnus, 
Pinguia  corticibus  sudent  electra  myricae." — Pope. 

2  Virg.  Eel.  V. : 

"  Quale  sopor  fessis  ingramine.  qnale  per  aestum 

''  IJulcis  aqua)  salieiite  sitim  restinguere  rivo." — Pope. 

8  Virg.  Eel.  V. : 

"  All  qui  amaut,  ipsi  sibi  somma  fingunt  ? " 


36  JUVENILE  POEMS. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay ! 
Beneath  yon  poplar  oft  we  passed  the  day: 
Oft  on  the  rind  I  carved  her  am'rous  vows, 
While  she  with  garlands  hung  the  bending  boughs: 
The  garlands  fade,  the  vows  are  worn  away; 
So  dies  her  love,  and  so  my  hopes  decay. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strain  I 
Now  bright  Arcturus  glads  the  teeming  grain, 
Now  golden  fruits  on  loaded  branches  shine, 
And  grateful  clusters  swell  with  floods  of  wine; 
Now  blushing  berries  paint  the  yellow  grove; 
Just  gods !  shall  all  things  yield  returns  but  love ! 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay  1 
The  shepherds  cry,  "  Thy  flocks  are  left  a  prey  " — 
Ah !  what  avails  it  me,  the  flocks  to  keep, 
"Who  lost  my  heart  while  I  preserved  my  sheep. 
Pan  came,  and  asked,  what  magic  caused  my  smart, 
Or  what  ill  eyes1  malignant  glances  dart  ? 
What  eyes  but  hers,  alas,  have  pow'r  to  move ! 
And  is  there  magic  but  what  dwells  in  love  ? 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strains  ? 
I'll  fly  from  shepherds,  flocks,  and  flow'ry  plains, 
From  shepherds,  flocks,  and  plains,  I  may  remove, . 
Forsake  mankind,  and  all  the  world — but  love ! 
I  know  thee.  Love !  on  foreign  mountains  bred, 
Wolves  gave  thee  suck,  and  savage  tigers  fed. 
Thou  wert  from  ^Etna's  burning  entrails  torn, 
Got  by  fierce  whirldwinds,  and  in  thunder  born ! 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay ! 
Farewell,  ye  woods !  adieu  the  light  of  day ! 
One  leap  from  yonder  cliff  shall  end  my  pains, 
No  more,  ye  hills,  no  more  resound  my  strains ! 

Thus  sung  the  shepherds  till  the  approach  of  night, 
The  skies  yet  blushing  with  departing  light, 
When  falling  dews  with  spangles  decked  the  glade, 
And  the  low  sun  had  lengthened  ev'ry  shade. 

1  An  allusion  to  the  superstition  of  the  evil  eye. 
Virg.  Eel.  III.  : 

"  Jtfeacio  quis  teneroa  ociUus  mihj  faaciuat  agaos."— 


JUVENILE  POEMS.  37 

• 

WINTER. 
THE  FOURTH  PASTORAL;  OR,  DAPHNE. 

TO  THE  MEMORY   OF  MRS.  TEMPEST.1 
LYCIDAS. 

THYRSIS,  the  music  of  that  murm'ring  spring 
Is  not  so  mournful  as  the  strains  you  sing. 
Nor  rivers  winding  through  the  vales  below, 
So  sweetly  warble,  or  so  smoothly  flow. 
Now  sleeping  flocks  on  their  soft  fleeces  lie, 
The  moon  serene  in  glory,  mounts  the  sky, 
While  silent  birds  forget  their  tuneful  lays, 
Oh  sing  of  Daphne's  fate,  and  Daphne's  praise. 

THYRSIS. 

Behold  the  groves  that  shine  with  silver  frost, 
Their  beauty  withered,  and  their  verdure  lost ! 
Here  shall  I  try  the  sweet  Alexis'  strain,2 
That  called  the  list'ning  Dryads  to  the  plain  ? 
Thames  heard3  the  numbers  as  he  flowed  along, 
And  bade  his  willows  learn  the  moving  song. 


1  This  lady  was  of  an  ancient  family  in  Yorkshire,  and  particularly 
admired  by  the  author  s  friend,  Mr.  Walsh,  who,  having  celebrated 


it  very  kindly  in  you  to  give  it  a  little  turn  as  if  it  were  to  the  mem- 
ory of  the  same  lady."  Her  death  having  happened  on  the  night  of  the 
great  storm  *  iu  1703,  gave  a  propriety  to  this  eclogue,  which  in  its 
general  turn  alludes  to  it.  The  scene  of  the  pastoral  lies  in  a  grove, 
the  time  at  midnight. — Pope. 

Miss  Tempest — it  was  the  fashion  in  Pope's  time  to  call  young  ladies 
"Mrs." — was  the  daughter  of  Henry  Tempest,  of  Newton  Grange, 
York.  She  died  unmarried. 

2  He  alludes  to  a  poem  of  Congreve's,  called  the  "  Mourning  Muse 
of  Alexis,"  a  pastoral  lamenting  the  death  of  Queen  Mary  (William 
Ill's  wife). 

8  Virg.  Eel.  VI. : 

"  Audiit  Eurotas,  jussitque  ediscere  lauros." 

*  One  of  the  most  terrible  storms  on  record.  Several  ships  of  war 
were  utterly  wrecked,  and  more  mischief  done  than  wag  e.yer  known, 
before  or  since. 


38  JUVENILE  POEMS. 

LYCIDAS. 

So  may  kind  rains  their  vital  moisture  yield, 
And  swell  the  future  harvest  of  the  field. 
Begin;  this  charge  the  dying  Daphne  gave, 
And  said  ;  "Ye  shepherds,  sing  around  my  gravel" 
Sing,  while  beside  the  shaded  tomb  I  mourn, 
And  with  fresh  bays*  her  rural  shrine  adorn. 

THYRSIS. 

Ye  gentle  muses,  leave  your  crystal  spring, 
Let  nymphs  and  sylvans  cypress  garlands  bring; 
Ye  weeping  loves,  the  stream  with  myrtles  hide, 
And  break  your  bows,  as  when  Adonis  died; 
And  with  your  golden  darts,  now  useless  grown, 
Inscribe  a  verse  on  this  relenting  stone: 
"  Let  nature  change,  let  heaven  and  earth  deplore,  I 
Fair  Daphne's  dead,  and  love  is  now  no  more !"      /  / 

Tis  done,  and  nature's  various  charms  decay, 
See  gloomy  clouds  obscure  the  cheerful  day  ! 
Now  hung  with  pearls  the  drooping  trees  appear, 
Their  faded  honours  scattered  on  her  bier. 
See,  where  on  earth  the  flow'ry  glories  lie, 
With  her  they  flourished,  and  with  her  they  die. 
Ah  what  avail  the  beauties  nature  wore  ? 
Fair  Daphne's  dead,  and  beauty  is  no  more !  — 

For  her  the  flocks  refuse  their  verdant  food, 
Nor  thirsty  heifers  seek  the  gliding  flood, 
The  silver  swans  her  hapless  fate  bemoan, 
In  notes  more  sad  than  when  they  sing  their  own; 
In  hollow  caves  sweet  echo  silent  lies, 
Silent,  or  only  to  her  name  replies; 
Her  name  with  pleasure  once  she  taught  the  shore,  j 
Now  Daphne's  dead,  and  pleasure  is  no  more !  - 

No  grateful  dews  descend  from  ev'ning  skies, 
Nor  morning  odours  from  the  flow'rs  arise; 
No  rich  perfumes  refresh  the  fruitful  field, 
Nor  fragrant  herbs  their  native  incense  yield. 
The  balmy  zephyrs,  silent  since  her  death, 
Lament  the  ceasing  of  a  sweeter  breath; 
Th'  industrious  bees  neglect  their  golded  store; 
Fair  Daphne's  dead,  and  sweetness  is  no  more !  — 

1  Virg.  Eel.  V.  : 

41  Inducite  fontibus  umbras— 
Et  tuwuluw  favite,  et  turnulo  superadiiite  carmen." — Pope. 


JUVENILE  POEMS.  39 

No  more  the  mounting  larks,  while  Daphne  sings, 
Shall  list'ning  in  mid  air  suspend  their  wings; 
No  more  the  birds  shall  imitate  her  lays, 
Or  hushed  with  wonder,  hearken  from  the  sprays: 
No  more  the  streams  their  murmur  shall  forbear, 
A  sweeter  music  than  their  own  to  hear, 
But  tell  the  reeds,  and  tell  the  vocal  shore, 
Fair  Daphne's  dead,  and  music  is  no  more ! 

Her  fate  is  whispered  by  the  gentle  breeze, 
And  told  in  sighs  to  all  the  trembling  trees; 
The  trembling  trees,  in  ev'ry  plain  and  wood, 
Her  fate  remurmur  to  the  silver  flood; 
The  silver  flood,  so  lately  calm,  appears 
Swelled  with  new  passion,  and  o'erflows  with  tears; 
The  winds  and  trees  and  floods  her  death  deplore, 
Daphne,  our  grief !  our  glory  now  no  more ! 

,But  see !  where  Daphne  wond'ring  mounts  on  high1 
Above  the  clouds,  above  the  starry  sky ! 
Eternal  beauties  grace  the  shining  scene, 
Fields  ever  fresh,  and  groves  for  ever  green ! 
There  while  you  rest  in  amaranthine  bow'rs, 
Or  from  those  meads  select  unfading  flow'rs, 
Behold  us  kindly,  wrho  your  name  implore, 
Daphne,  our  goddess,  and  our  grief  no  more ! 

LYCIDAS. 

How  all  things  listen,  while  thy  muse  complains ! 
Such  silence  waits  on  Philomela's  strains, 
In  some  still  ev'ning,  when  the  whisp'ring  breeze 
Pants  on  the  leaves,  and  dies  upon  the  trees. 
To  thee,  bright  goddess,  oft  a  lamb  shall  bleed,2 
If  teeming  ewes  increase  my  fleecy  breed. 
While  plants  their  shade,  or  flow'rs  their  odours  give, 
Thy  name,  thy  honour,  and  thy  praise  shall  live ! 

THYRSIS. 

j3ut  see,  Orion  sheds  unwholesome  dews: 
Arise;  the  pines  a  noxious  shade  diffuse;3 

*  Virg.  Eel.  V. : 

"  miratur  limen  Olympi, 
Sub  pedibusquc  videt  iiubes  et  sidera  Daphuis." — Pope. 

2  Virg.  Eel.  I. : 

"  illius  aram 
Saepo  tener  nostris  ab  ovilibus  imbuet  agnus." — Pope. 

3  Virg.  Eel.  X. : 

"  solet  ease  gravis  caiitantibus  umbra ;  Juniperi  gravis  umbra." — Pope, 


40  AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

Sharp  Boreas  blows,  and  nature  feels  decay, 

Time  conquers  all,  and  we  must  time  obey. 


Adieu,  ye  vales,  ye  mountains   streams  and  groves, 
Adieu,  ye  shepherds,  rural  lays  and  loves; 
Adieu,  my  flocks,  farewell  ye  sylvan  crew,    \ 
Daphne,  farewell,  and  all  the  world  adieu  I1 1 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

WRITTEN  IN  THE  YEAR  1709.    PUBLISHED  1711. 


CONTENTS. 

PART  I. 

V»  wrofloction — that  it  is  as  great  a  fault  to  judge  as  to  write  ill,  and 
n  n>. .  *  dangerous  oue  to  the  public,  v.  1.  That  a  true  taste  is  as  rare 
to  b*  fo.ind  as  a  true  genius,  v.  9  to  18.  That  most  men  are  born  with 
some  tkste,  but  spoilt  by  false  education,  v.  19  to  25.  The  multitude  oi; 
critics  anO  causes  of  them,  v.  26  to  45.  That  we  are  to  study  our  own 
taste,  and  k^ow  the  limits  of  it,  v.  46  to  67.  Nature  the  best  guide  of 
'  judgment,  v  68  to  87.  Improved  by  art  and  rules,  which  are  but 
methodised  Ti^tme,  v.  88.  Rules  derived  from  the  practice  of  the  an- 
cient poets,  v, ,%  *-o  110.  That  therefore  tbe  ancients  are  necessary  to 
be  studied  by  °A\iics,  particularly  Homer  .and  Virgil,  v.  120  to  138.  Of 
Licenses  and  tbe  vse  of  them  by  the  ancients,  v.  140  to  180.  Rever- 
ence due  to  the  oo^ents  and  praise  of  them,  v.  181,  &c. 

PART  II. 

Causes  hindering  %  true  judgment.  (1).  Pride,  v.  208.  (2).  Imper- 
fect learning,  y.  215.  ^3).  Judging  by  parts  and  not  by  the  whole,  v. 
233  to  288.  Critice  in  vit,  language,  versification  only,  v.  288,  305,  339, 
&c.  (4).  Being  too  i.vd  to  please  or  too  apt  to  admire,  v.  384.  (5). 
Partiality — too  mucL  lo  Te  to  a  sect — to  the  ancients  or  moderns,  v.  324. 
(6).  Prejudice  or  pre\  en/ion,  v.  408.  (7).  Singularity,  v.  424.  (8).  In- 
constancy, v.  430.  (9).  Pfcvty,  v.  452,  &c.  (10).  Envy,  v.  466.  Against 
envy  and  in  praise  of  g<.od  mature,  v.  508,  &c.  When  severity  is  chiefly 
to  be  used  by  critics,  v.  ;.76. 

PART  III. 

Rules  for  the  conduct  o5  .«n  tuners  in  a  critic.  (1),  Candour,  v.  563. 
Modesty,  v.  566.  Good  breech  vc,  v.  572.  Sincerity  and  freedom  of  ad- 
vice, v.  578.  (2).  "When  ons'.s  counsel  is  to  be  restrained,  v.  584.  Char- 
acter of  an  incorrigible  poet,  v.  tr>3.  And  of  an  impertinent  critic,  v. 
610,  &c.  Character  of  a  goot1  cr  lie,  v.  629.  The  history  of  criticism 
and  characters  of  the  best  critics,  Aristotle,  v.  645.  Horace,  v.  653. 
Dionysius.  v,  665.  Petronius,  v.  6tV.  Quintilion,  v,  670.  Longinus,  v. 
675.  Of  the  decay  of  Criticism  find  ,\v  revival;  Erasmus,  v.  693.  Vida, 
v.  705.  Boileau,  v.  714.  Lord  Rosco  <nrnon,  &c.  v.  725.  Conclusion. 

1  These  four  last  lines  allude  to  the  several  subjects  of  the  four  pas- 
torals, and  to  the  several  scenes  ov  them,  particularised  before  in 
«ach." — Pope. 


ESS  A  Y  ON  CRITICISM.  41 

'Tis  hard  to  say,  if  greater  want  of  skill 
Appear  in  writing  or  in  judging  ill; 
But,  of  the  two,  less  dang'rous  is  the  offence 
To  tire  our  patience,  than  mislead  our  sense. 
Some  few  in  that,  but  numbers  err  is  this, 
Ten  censure  wrong  for  one  who  writes  amiss; 
A  fool  might  once  himself  alone  expose, 
Now  one  in  verse  makes  many  more  in  prose. 
'Tis  with  our  judgments  as  our  watches,  none 
Go  just  alike,  yet  each  believes  his  own. 
In  poets  as  true  genius  is  but  rare, 
True  taste  as  seldom  is  the  critic's  share; 
Both  must  alike  from  heaven  derive  their  light, 
These  born  to  judge,  as  well  as  those  to  write. 
Let  such  teach  others,  who  themselves  excel. 
And  censure  freely  who  have  written  well. 
Authors  are  partial  to  their  wit,  'tis  true, 
But  are  not  critics  to  their  judgment  too  ? 

Yet  if  we  look  more  closely  we  shall  find 
Most  have  the  seeds  of  judgment  in  their  mind  : 
Nature  affords  at  least  a  glimm'ring  light ; 
The  lines,  though  touched  but  faintly,  are   drawn 

right. 

But  as  the  slightest  sketch,  if  justly  traced, 
Is  by  ill-colouring  but  the  more  disgraced, 
So  by  false  learning  is  good  sense  defaced:1 
Some  are  bewildered  in  the  maze  of  schools, 
And  some  made  coxcombs  nature  meant  but  fools. 
In  search  of  wit  these  lose  their  common  sense, 
And  then  turn  critics  in  their  own  defence  : 
Each  burns  alike,  who  can,  or  cannot  write, 
Or  with  a  rival's,  or  an  eunuch's  spite, 

All  fools  have  still  an  itching  to  deride, 

And  fain  would  be  upon  the  laughing  side. 

If  Msevius  scribble  in  Apollo's  spite, 

There  are,  who  judge  still  worse  than  he  can  write. 

Some  have  at  first  for  wits,  then  poets  past, 
Turned  critics  next,  and  proved  plain  fools  at  last. 
Some  neither  can  for  wits  nor  critics  pass, 
As  heavy  mules  are  neither  horse  nor  ass. 
Those  half-learned  witlings,  num'rous  in  our  isle, 
As  half-formed  insects  on  the  banks  of  Nile : 

Plus  sine  doctrina  prudentia,  quam  sine  prudeiitia  valet  doctrina 


42  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

Unfinished  things,  one  knows  not  what  to  call. 
Their  generation's  so  equivocal; 
To  tell  'em,  would  a  hundred  tongues  require, 
Or  one  vain  wit's/ that  might  a  hundred  tire. 

But  you  who  seek  to  give  and  merit  fame, 
And  justly  bear  a  critic's  noble  name, 
Be  sure  yourself  and  your  own  reach  to  know, 
How  far  your  genius,  taste,  and  learning  go; 
Launch  not  beyond  your  depth,  but  be  discreet, 
.  And  mark  that  point  wrhere  sense  and  dulness  meet 

Nature  to  all  things  fixed  the  limits  fit, 
And  wisely  curbed  proud  man's  pretending  wit. 
As  on  the  land  while  here  the  ocean  gains, 
In  other  parts  it  leaves  wide  sandy  plains; 
Thus  in  the  soul  while  memory  prevails, 
The  solid  pow'r  of  understanding  fails; 
Where  beams  of  warm  imagination  play, 
The  memory's  soft  figures  melt  away. 
One  science  only  will  one  genius  fit; 
So  vast  is  art,  so  narrow  human  wit:    [ 
Not  only  bounded  to  peculiar  arts, 
But  oft  in  those  confined  to  single  parts. 
Like  kings  we  lose  the  conquests  gained  before, 
By  vain  ambition  still  to  make  them  more; 
Each  might  his  sev'ral  province  well  command, 
Would  all  but  stoop  to  what  they  understand. 

First  follow  nature  and  your  judgment  frame  — " 
By  her  just  standard,  which  is  still  the  same: 
Unerring  Nature,  still  divinely  bright, 
One  clear,  unchanged,  and  universal  light, 
Life,  force,  and  beauty,  must  to  all  impart, 

At  once  the  source,  and  end,  and  test  of  art. 

Art  from  that  funcl  each^usFsuppIy  provides, 
Works  without  show,  and  without  pomp  presides; 
In  some  fair  body  thus  th'  informing  soul 
With  spirits  feeds,  with  vigour  fills  the  whole, 
Each  motion  guides,  and  ev'ry  nerve  sustains; 
Itself  unseen,  but  in  th'  effects,  remains. 
Some,  to  whom  Heav'ii  in  wit  has  been  profuse, 
Want  as  much  more  to  turn  it  to  its  use;^-~ 

For  wit  and  judgment  often  are  at  strife; """ 

Though  meant  each  other's  aid,  like  man  and  wife, 
'Tis  more  to  guide,  than  spur  the  muse's  steed; 
Restrain  his  fury?  than  prgyoke  his  speed; 


ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  43 

The  winged  courser,  like  a  generous  horse, 
Shows  most  true  metal  when  you  check  his  course. 

Those  rules  of  old  discovered,  not  devised,  \ 
Are  nature  still,  but  nature  methodized; 
Nature,  like  liberty,  is  but  restrained 
By  the  same  laws  which  first  herself  ordained. 

Hear  how  learned  Greece  her  useful  rules  indites, 
When  to  repress  and  when  indulge  our  flights; 
High  on  Parnassus'  top  her  sons  she  showed, 
And  pointed  out  those  arduous  paths  they  trod; 
Held  from  afar,  aloft,  th'  immortal  prize, 
And  urged  the  rest  by  equal  steps  to  rise. 
Just  precepts  thus  from  great  examples  giv'n,1 
She  drew  from  them  what  they  derived  from  Heav'n. 
The  gen'rous  critic  fanned  the  poet's  fire, 
And  taught  the  world  with  reason  to  admire. 
Then  criticism  the  muse's  handmaid  proved, 
To  dress  her  charms  and  make  her  more  beloved: 
But  following  wits  from  that  intention  strayed, 
Who  could  not  win  the  mistress,  wooed  the  maid; 
Against  the  poets  their  own  arms  they  turned, 
Sure  to  hate  most  the  men  from  whom  they  learned. 
So  modern  'Pothecaries,  taught  the  art 
By  doctor's  bills2  to  play  the  doctor's  part, 
Bold  in  the  practice  of  mistaken  rules, 
Prescribe,  apply,  and  call  their  masters  fools. 
Some  on  the  leaves  of  ancient  authors  prey, 
Nor  time  nor  moths  e'er  spoiled  so  much  as  they. 
Some  drily  plain  without  invention's  aid, 
Write  dull  receipts  how  poems  may  be  made; 
These  leave  the  sense,  their  learning  to  display, 
And  those  explain  the  meaning  quite  away. 

You  then  whose  judgment  the  right  course  would 

steer, 

Know  well  each  ancient's  proper  character; 
His  fable,  subject  scope  in  ev'ry  page; 
Religion,  country,  genius  of  his  age; 
Without  all  these  at  once  before  your  eyes, 
Cavil  you  may,  but  never  criticise.3 

1  Nee  enim  artilms  cditis  factnm  est  nt  arguments  iiivoniremns,  sed 
dicta  sunt  omnia  antequam  praeciperentnrj  mox  ea  BOiiptorea  cbscr- 
vata  et  collecta  edideruiit.  Quin. — Pope. 

s  Prescriptions. 

'A  The  author  after  this  verso  originally  inserted  the  following,  which 
he  has,  iuwc  VIT,  umiiuU  iu  till  thu  editions ; 


44  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM* 

Be  Homer's  works  your  study  and  delight, 
Eead  them  by  day,  and  meditate  by  night  \ 
Thence  form  your  judgment,  thence  your*  maxims 

bring, 

And  trace  the  muses  upward  to  their  spring.  — 
^   Still  with  itself  compared,  his  text  peruse; 
And  let  vour  comment  be  the  Mantuan  muse. 

When"  first  young  Maro  in  his  boundless  mind1 
A  work  t'  outlast  immortal  Home  designed, 
Perhaps  he  seemed  above  the  critic's  law, 
And  but  from  Nature's  fountains  scorned  to  draw; 
But  when  t'  examine  ev'ry  part  he  came, 
Nature  and  Homer  were,  he  found,  the  same.  -__- 
Convinced,  amazed,  he  checks  the  bold  design; 
And  rules  as  strict  his  laboured  work  confine, 
As  if  the  Stagirite2  o'erlooked  each  line. 
Learn  hence  for  ancient  rules  a  just  esteem; 
To  copy  nature  is  to  copy  them. 

Some  beauties  yet  no  precepts  can  declare, 
For  there's  a  happiness  as  weU  as  care. 
Music  resembles  poetry,  in  each 
Are  nameless  graces  which  no  methods  teach, 
And  which  a  master-hand  alone  can  reach. 
If,  where  the  rules  not  far  enough  extend, 
(Since  rules  were  made  but  to  promote  their  end) 
Some  lucky  licence  answer  to  the  full 
Th'  intent  proposed,  that  licence  is  a  rule. 
Thus  Pegasus,  a  nearer  way  to  take, 
May  boldly  deviate  from  the  common  track. 
Great  wits  sometimes  may  gloriously  offend, 
And  rise  to  faults  true  critics  dare  not  mend. 
From  vulgar  bounds  with  brave  disorder  part, ' 

Zoilns,  had  these  been  known  without  a  name, 
Had  died,  and  Perault  n'er  been  damned  to  fame; 
The  sense  of  sound  antiquity  had  reigned, 
And  sacred  Homer  yet  been  unprofaned. 
None  e'er  had  thought  his  comprehensive  mind 
To  modern  customs,  modern  rules  confined ; 
Who  for  all  ages  writ,  and  all  mankind. 

Pope. 

1  Virgil,  Eclog.  VI. : 

Cum  canerem  reges  et  praelia,  Cynthius  aurem 

Vellit 

It  is  a  tradition  preserved  by  Servius,  that  Virgil  began  with  writing 
a  poem  of  the  Alban  and  Roman  affairs ;  which  he  found  above  bia 
years,  and  descended  first  to  imitate  Theocritus  on  rural  subjects,  and 
afterwards  to  copy  Homer  in  heroic  poetry. — Pope. 

2  Aristotle,  born  at  Stagyra,  B.C.  384.    The  great  ancient  critic,  and 
tutor  of  Alexander  the  Great,    He  died  about  423  u,c. 


ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  45 

And  snatch  a  grace  beyond  the  reach  of  art, 

Which,  without  passing  through  the  judgment,  gains 

The  heart,  and  all  its  end  at  once  attains. 

In  prospects  thus,  some  objects  please  our  eyes, 

Which  out  of  nature's  common  order  rise, 

The  shapeless  rock,  or  hanging  precipice. 

But  though  the  ancients  thus  their  rules  invade; 

(As  kings  dispense  with  laws  themselves  have  made) 

Moderns  beware !  or  if  you  must  offend  j 

Against  the  precept,  ne'er  transgress  its  end; 

Let  it  be  seldom,  and  compelled  by  need; 

And  have,  at  least,  their  precedent  to  plead. 

The  critic  else  proceeds  without  remorse, 

Seizes  your  fame  and  puts  his  laws  in  force. 

I  know  there  are  to  whose  presumptuous  thoughts 
Those  freer  beauties,  ev'n  in  them,  seem  faults. 
Some  figures  monstrous  and  mis-shaped  appear, 
Considered  singly,  or  beheld  too  near, 
Which,  but  proportioned  to  their  light  or  place, 
Due  distance  reconciles  to  form  and  grace. 
A  prudent  chief  not  always  must  display 
His  pow'rs  in  equal  ranks,  and  fair  array, 
But  with  th'  occasion  and  the  place  comply, 
Conceal  his  force,  nay,  seem  sometimes  to  fly. 
Those  oft  are  stratagems  which  errors  seem, 
Nor  is  it  Homer  nods,  but  we  that  dream.1 

StiU  green  with  bays  each  ancient  altar  stands, 
Above  the  reach  of  sacrilegious  hands; 
Secure  from  flames,  from  envy's  fiercer  rage. 
Destructive  war  and  all-involving  age. 
See,  from  each  clime  the  learned  their  incense  bring ! 
Hear,  in  all  tongues  consenting  Paeans  ring ! 
In  praise  so  just  let  ev'ry  voice  be  joined, 
And  fill  the  general  chorus  of  mankind. 
Hail,  bards  triumphant !  born  in  happier  days; 
Immortal  heirs  of  universal  praise  ? 
Whose  honours  with  increase  of  ages  grow, 
As  streams  roll  down,  enlarging  as  they  flow; 
Nations  unborn  your  mighty  names  shall  sound, 
And  worlds  applaud  that  must  not  yet  be  found ! 
Oh  may  some  spark  of  your  celestial  fire, 

1  Modesto,  et  circumspecto  judicio  de  taiitis  viris  pronunciandum 
est,  DC  (quod  plerisque  accidit)  damdent  quod  non  iutellijrunt.  Ac  si 
necesse  est  in  alteram  errare  partem.  nmnia  -orum  legentibus  placere, 
quam  multa  dtepUcero  jjialueriw, 


46  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

The  last,  the  meanest  of  your  sons  inspire, 

(That  on  weak  wings,  from  far,  pursues  your  flights; 

Glow^s  while  he  reads,  but  trembles  as  he  writes) 

To  teach  vain  wits  *a  science  little  known, 

T'  admire  superior  sense,  and  doubt  their  own! 

n. 

OF  all  the  causes  which  conspire  to  blind 
Man's  erring  judgment,  and  misguide  the  mind, 
What  the  weak  head  with  strongest  bias  rules, 

Is  pride,  the  never-failing  voice  of  fools.  •* — . * 

Whatever  nature  has  in  worth  denied, 

She  gives  in  large  recruits  of  needful  pride; 

For  as  in  bodies,  thus  in  souls,  we  find 

What  wants  in  blood  and  spirits,  swelled  with  wind: 

Pride,  where  wit  fails  steps  in  to  OUT  defence, 

And  fills  up  all  the  mighty  void  of  sense. 

If  once  right  reason  drives  that  cloud  away, 

Truth  breaks  upon  us  with  resistless  day. 

Trust  not  yourself;  but  your  defects  to  know, 

Make  use  of  ev'ry  friend — and  ev'ry  foe.1 

A  little  learning  is  a  dang'rous  thing; 
Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring: 
There  shallow  draughts  intoxicate  the  brain, 
And  drinking  largely  sobers  us  again. 
Fired  at  first  sight  with  what  the  muse  imparts, 
In  fearless  youth  we  tempt  the  heights  of  arts, 
While  from  the  bounded  level  of  our  mind 
Short  views  we  take,  nor  see  the  lengths  behind; 
But  more  advanced,  behold  with  strange  surprise 
New  distant  scenes  of  endless  science  rise ! 
So  pleased  at  first  the  tow'ring  Alps  we  try 
Mount  o'er  the  vales,  and  seem  to  tread  the  sky, 
Th'  eternal  snows  appear  already  past, 
And  the  first  clouds  and  mountains  seem  the  last; 
But,  those  attained,  we  tremble  to  survey 
The  growing  labours  of  the  lengthened  way, 
Th'  increasing  prospect  tires  our  wand'ring  eyes, 
Hills  peep  o'er  hills,  and  Alps  on  Alps  arise ! 

A  perfect  judge  will  read  each  work  of  wit2 

1  Pope  wisely  followed  tliis  rule  himself.    Some  faults  in  this  essay 
which  his  antagonist  Dennis  detected,  the  poet  had  the  good  sense  to. 
correct. 

2  Diligenter  legendum  est  ac  psene  ad  scribendi  sollicitudinem  :  nee 
per  paries  niodo  scrutanda  srnit  omiiia  sed  per  lectus  liber  utique  ex 
intergo  resuuieiidus,     fyuin 


ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  47 

I    With  the  same  spirit  that  its  author  writ: 
Survey  the  whole,  nor  seek  slight  faults  to  find 
Where  nature  moves,  and  rapture  warms  the  mind; 
Nor  lose,  for  that  malignant  dull  delight, 
The  gen'rous  pleasure  to  be  charmed  with  wit. 

(But  in  such  lays  as  neither  ebb  nor  flow, 
Correctly  cold,  and  regularly  low, 
That  shunning  faults,  one  quiet  tenor  keep, 

We  cannot  blame  indeed but  we  may  sleep. 

'     In  wit,  as  nature,  what  affects  our  hearts 
Is  not  th'  exactness  of  peculiar  parts; 

'Tis  not  a  lip,  or  eye,  we  beauty  call,  — • 

But  the  joint  force  and  full  result  of  all. " 

Thus  when  we  view  some  well-proportioned  dome, 

(The  world's  just  wonder,  and  even  thine,  O  Rome !) 

No  single  parts  unequally  surprise, 

All  comes  united  to  th'  admiring  eyes; 

No  monstrous  height,  or  breadth,  or  length  appear; 

The  whole  at  once  is  bold,  and  regular. 

Whoever  thinks  a  faultless  piece  to  see,      N.      < 
Thinks  what  ne'er  was,  nor  is,  nor  e'er  shall  be/X 

I  In  ev'ry  work  regard  the  writer's  end, 
Since  none  can  compass  more  than  they  intend; 
And  if  the  means  be  just,  the  conduct  true, 
Applause,  in  spite  of  trivial  faults,  is  due. 
As  men  of  breeding,  sometimes  men  of  wit, 
T'  avoid  great  errors,  must  the  less  commit: 
Neglect  the  rules  each  verbal  critic  lays, 
For  not  to  know  some  trifles,  is  a  praise.1 — " 
Most  critics,  fond  of  some  subservient  art, 
Still  make  the  whole  depend  upon  a  part: 
They  talk  of  principles,  but  notions  prize, 
And  all  to  one  loved  folly  sacrifice. 

Once  on  a  time,  La  Mancha's  knight,1  they  say, 
A  certain  bard  encountering  on  the  way, 
Discoursed  in  terms  as  just,  with  looks  as  sage, 
As  e'er  could  Dennis,  of  the  Grecian  stage; 
Concluding  all  were  desperate  sots  and  fools, 
Who  durst  depart  from  Aristotle's  rules. 
Our  author,  happy  in  a  judge  so  nice, 
Produced  his  play,  and  begged  the  knight's  advice  ; 

1  This  incident  is  taken  from  a  spurins  second  part  of  Don  Quixote, 
written  by  Don  Alonzo  Fernandez  de  Avelhinada,  and  translated  and 
remodelled  by  Le  Sage,  It  will  be  vaiuly  sought  for  iu  Cervaute's  mi« 
mortal  novel. 


48  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

Made  him  observe  the  subject,  and  the  plot, 

The  manners,  passions,  unities  ;  what  not  ? 

All  which,  exact  to  rule,  were  brought  about, 

Were  but  a  combat  in  the  lists  left  out. 

"  What !  leave  the  combat  out  ?  "  exclaims  the  knight ; 

Yes,  or  we  must  renounce  the  Stagirite. 

"  Not  so  by  Heav'n  "  (he  answers  in  a  rage),  [stage.'* 

"  Knights,  squires,  and  steeds,  must  enter  on  the 

So  vast  a  throng  the  stage  can  ne'er  contain. 

"  Then  build  a  new,  or  act  it  in  a  plain." 

Thus  critics,  of  less  judgment  than  caprice, 
Curious  not  knowing,  not  exact  but  nice, 
Form  short  ideas  ;  and  offend  in  arts, 
(As  most  in  manners)  by  a  love  to  parts. 

Some  to  conceit  alone  their  taste  confine, 
And  glitt'ring  thoughts  struck  out  at  ev'ry  line  ; 
Pleased  with  a  work  where  nothing's  just  or  fit ; 
One  glaring  chaos  and  wild  heap  of  wit. 
Poets  like  painters,  thus  unskilled  to  trace 
The  naked  nature  and  the  living  grace, 
With  gold  and  jewels  cover  every  part, 
And  hide  with  ornaments  their  want  of  art. 
'  True  wit  is  nature  to  advantage  dressed,11 
What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  expressed  ;N 
Something,  whose  truth  convinced  at  sight  we  fine 

* '  That  gives  us  back  the  image  of  our  mind. 
As  shades  more  sweetly  recommend  the  light, 

^    So  modest  plainness  sets  off  sprightly  wit. 

For  works  may  have  more  wit  than  does  them  good, 
As  bodies  perish  through  excess  of  blood. 

Others  for  language  all  their  care  express, 
And  value  books,  as  women  men,  for  dress  : 
Their  praise  is  still, — the  style  is  excellent: 
The  sense  they  humbly  take  upon  content.2 
Words  are  like  leaves;  and  where  they  most  abound, 
Much  fruit  of  sense  beneath  is  rarely  found: 
False  eloquence,  like  the  prismatic  glass, 
Its  gaudy  colours  spreads  on  ev'ry  place; 
The  face  of  nature  we  no  more  survey, 
All  glares  alike,  without  distinction  gay: 
But  true  expression,  like  th'  unchanging  sun, 

1  Naturam  intueamur,  hanc  sequamur :  id  facillime    accipiunt 
animi  quod  agnoscunt.     Quin.  lib.  8.  ch.  3. — Pnfn-. 
-  On  trust — that  is  j  a  common  use  of  the  word  content  in  Poue'a 


ESSAY  ON  CEITICISM.  49 

Clears  and  improves  whate'er  it  shines  upon, 
It  gilds  all  objects,  but  it  alters  none. 
Expression  is  the  dress  of  thought,  and  still 
Appears  more  decent,  as  more  suitable; 
A  vile  conceit  in  pompous  words  expressed, 
Is  like  a  clown  in  regal  purple  dressed: 
For  diffrent  styles  with  diff rent  subjects  sort, 
As  sev'ral  garbs  with  country,  town,  and  court. 
Some  by  old  words  to  fame  have  made  pretence.1 
Ancients  in  phrase,  mere  moderns  in  their  sense; 
Such  laboured  nothings,  in  so  strange  a  style, 
Amaze  th'  unlearned,  and  make  the  learned  smile. 
Unlucky,  as  Fungoso  in  the  play,2 
These  sparks  with  awkward  vanity  display 
What  the  fine  gentleman  wore  yesterday; 
And  but  so  mimic  ancient  wits  at  best, 
As  apes  our  graiidsires,  in  their  doublets  drest. 
In  words,  as  fashions,  the  same  rule  will  hold; 
Alike  fantastic,  if  too  new,  or  old: 
Be  not  the  first  by  whom  the  new  are  tried, 
Nor  yet  the  last  to  lay  the  old  aside. 
i      Bat  most  by  numbers  judge  a  poet's  song3 
And  smooth  or  rough,  with  them  is  right  or  wrong: 
In  the  bright  Muse  though  thousand  charms  conspire, 
Her  voice  is  all  these  tuneful  fools  admire; 
Who  haunt  Parnassus  but  to  please  their  ear, 
Not  mend  their  minds;  as  some  to  church  repair, 
Not  for  the  doctrine,  but  the  music  there. 
These  equal  syllables  alone  require, 
•   Though  oft  the  ear  the  open  vowels  tire;4 
While  expletives  their  feeble  aid  do  join; 
And  ten  low  words  oft  creep  in  one  dull  line; 


1  Abolita  et  abrogata  retinere,  insolentico  cujusdam  est,  et  fri voice 
in  parvis  jactantiae. —  Quint  lib.  i.  c.  6;  "  Opus  est,  et  verba  a  vetus- 
tate  repetita  neque  crebra  shit,  neque  manifesta,  quia  nil  est  odio- 
sius  affectatione,  nee  utique  ab  ultimis  repetita  temporibus.  Oratio 
cujus  summa  virtus  est  perspicuitas,  quam  sit  vitiosa,  se  egeat  in- 
terprete?  Ergo  ut  iiovorum  optima  erunt  maxime  vetera  ita  veterum. 
maxime  nova.'  Idem. — rope. 

See  Ben  Johnson's  "  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour." — Pope. 

3  "Quis  populi  sermo  est?  quis  enim?  nisi  carmine  molli. 

Nunc  demum  numero  fluere,  ut  per  leeve  severos. 
Effundat  j  unctura  ungues :  scit  tend  ere  versum. 
Non  secus  ac  si  oculo  rubricam  dirigat  uno." — Pers.  Sat.  i. — • 
Pope. 

4  Fugiemus  crebras  vocalium  concursiones,  quas  vastam   atque 
hiantem  orationom  reddunt.    Cic.  ad  Heren.  lib.  4.  Vide  etiam  Quint, 
lib.  9,  c,  ±.—l>ape. 


50  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

While  they  ring  round  the  same  unvaried  chimes, 
With  sure  returns  of  still  expected  rhymes; 
Where'er  you  find  "  the  cooling  western  breeze," 
In  the  next  line,  it  "whispers  through  the  trees:" 
If  crystal  streams  "  with  pleasing  murmurs  creep," 
The  reader's  threatened  (not  in  vain)  with  "sleep:" 
Then,  at  the  last  and  only  couplet  fraught — 
With  some  unmeaning  thing  they  call  a  thought, 
A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song  [along. 

That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags  its  slow  length 
Leave  such  to  tune  their  own  dull  rhymes,  and  know 
What's  roundly  smooth  or  languishingly  slow; 
And  praiae  the  easy  vigour  of  a  line,  [join. 

;  Where  Denham's2  strength,  and  Waller's  sweetness 
True  ease  in  writing  comes  from  art,  not  chance, 

.  As  those  move  easiest  who  have  learned  to  dance. 
'Tis  not  enough  no  harshness  gives  offence, 
The  sound  must  seem  an  echo  to  the  sense. 
Soft  is  the  strain  when  zephyr  gently  blows, 
And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numbers  flows; 
But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding  shore, 
The  hoarse,  rough  verse  should  like  the  torrent  roar: 
When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw, 

,  The  line  too  labours,  and  the  words  move  slow; 
Not  so,  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain,    [main. 

I  Flies  o'er  the  unbending  corn,  and  skims  along  the 
Hear  how  Timotheus'  varied  lays  surprise,2 
And  bid  alternate  passions  fall  and  rise ! 
While,  at  each  change,  the  son  of  Lib}ran  Jove 
Now  burns  with  glory,  and  then  melts  with  love; 
Now  his  fierce  eyes  with  sparkling  fury  glow, 
Now  sighs  steal  out,  and  tears  begin  to  now: 
Persians  and  Greeks  like  turns  of  nature  found, 
And  the  world's  victor  stood  subdued  by  sound ! 
The  pow'~  of  music  all  our  hearts  allow, 
And  whac  Timotheus  was,  is  Dry  den  now. 

Avoid  extremes;  and  shun  the  fault  of  such, 
Who  still  are  pleased  too  little  or  too  much, 
At  ev'ry  trine  scorn  to  take  offence; 
That  always  shows  great  pride,  or  little  sense; 

1  Sir  JOHN  DENHAM  wrote  "  Cooper's  Hill,"  a  descriptive  poem,  In 
1G43.    He  was  born  1615,  died  1668.     EDMUND  WALLER,  the  well- 
known  English  poet,  was  born  1605,  died  1687. 

2  See  "  Alexander's  Feast,  or  the  power  of  Music;  an  Ode  by  Mro 
Dryden,— 


!' 


ESSAY  ON  CHI  TIC  ISM.  51 

Those  heads,  as  stomachs,  are  not  sure  the  best, 

Which  nauseate  all,  and  nothing  can  digest. 

Yet  let  not  each  gay  turn  thy  rapture  move; 

For  fools  admire,  but  men  of  sense  approve: 

As  things  seein  large  which  we  through  mists  descry, 

Dulness  is  ever  apt  to  magnify. 

Some  foreign  writers,  some  our  own  despise; 
The  ancients  only,  or  the  moderns  prize. 
Thus  wit,  like  faith,  by  ea>ch  man  is  applied 
To  one  small  sect,  and  all  are  damned  beside. 
Meanly  they  seek  the  blessing  to  confine, 
And  force  that  sun  but  on  a  part  to  shine, 
Which  not  alone  the  southern  wit  sublimes, 
But  ripens  spirits  in  cold  northern  climes; 
Which  from  the  first  has  shone  on  ages  past, 
Enlights  the  present,  and  shall  warm  the  last; 
Though  each  may  feel  increases  and  decays, 
And  see  now  clearer  a  nd  now  darker  days. 
Eegard  not  then  if  wit  be  old  or  new, 
But  blame  the  false,  and  value  still  the  true. 

Some  ne'er  advance  a  judgment  of  their  own 
But  catch  the  spreading  notion  of  the  town: 
They  reason  and  conclude  by  precedent, 
And  own  stale  nonsense  which  they  ne'er  invent. 
Some  judge  of  author's  names,  not  works,  and  then 
Nor  praise  nor  blame  the  writings,  but  the  men. 
Of  all  this  servile  herd  the  worst  is  he 
That  in  proud  dulness  joins  with  quality." 
A  constant  critic  at  the  great  man's  board, 
To  fetch  and  carry  nonsense  for  my  lord. 
What  woeful  stuff  this  madrigal  would  be, 
In  some  starved  hackney  sonneteer,  or  me  ? 
But  let  a  lord  once  own  the  happy  lines,1 
How  the  wit  brightens!  how  the  style  refines  1 
Before  his  sacred  name  flies  ev'ry  fault, 
And  each  exalted  stanza  teems  with  thought ! 

The  vulgar  thus  through  imitation  err; 
As  oft  the  learned  by  being  singular; 
So  much  they  scorn  the  crowd,  that  if  the  throng 
By  chance  go  right,  they  purposely  go  wrong; 
So  schismatics  the  plain  believers  quit, 

i  "You  ought  not  to  write  verses,"  said  George  II.,  who  had  little 
taste,  to  Lord  Hervey,  "'tis  beneath  your  rank.  Leave  sucli  work  l<) 
little  Mr.  Pope  j  it  is  bis 


52  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

And  are  but  damned  for  having  too  much  wit. 
Some  praise  at  morning  what  they  blame  at  night; 
Bat  always  think  the  last  opinion  right. 
A  muse  by  these  is  like  a  mistress  used, 
Tiiis  hour  she's  idolised,  the  next  abused; 
While  their  weak  heads  like  towns  unfortified, 
'Twixt  sense  and  nonsense  daily  change  their  side. 
Ask  them  the  cause;  they're  wiser  still  they  say; 
And  still  to-morrow's  wiser  than  to-day. 
We  think  our  fathers  fools,  so  wise  we  grow; 
Oar  wiser  sons,  no  doubt,  will  think  us  so. 
Onc3  school-divines  this  zealous  isle  o'erspread; 
Who  knew  most  sentences,  was  deepest  read;1 
Faith,  gospel,  all,  seemed  made  to  be  disputed, 
And  none  had  sense  enough  to  be  confuted: 
Scotists  and  Thomists,  now,  in  peace  remain;2 
Amidst  their  kindred  cobwebs  in  Duck  Lane.3 
If  Faith  itself  has  diff'rent  dresses  worn, 
What  wonder  modes  in  wit  should  take  their  turn? 
Oft,  leaving  what  is  natural  and  fit, 
The  current  folly  proves  the  ready  wit, 
And  authors  think  their  reputation  safe, 
Which  lives  as  long  as  fools  are  pleased  to  laugh. 
Some  valuing  those  of  their  own  side  or  mind, 
Still  make  themselves  the  measure  of  mankind: 
Fondly  we  think  we  honour  merit  then, 
When  wo  but  praise  ourselves  in  other  men. 
Parties  in  wit  attend  on  those  of  State, 
And  public  faction  doubles  private  hate. 
Pride,  malice,  folly,  against  Dryden  rose, 


1  The  "  Book  of  Sentences  "  was  a  work  on  theology,  written  by 
Peter  Lombard,  and  commentated  on  by  Thomas  Acquinas. 

2  Scotists  and  Thomis's.    The  Scotists  were  the  disciples  or  pupils 
of  Johannes  Duns  Scotus,  a  famous  schoolman  or  doctor  of  the  mid- 
dle ages.     "Erasmus,"  says  Warburton,  "tells  us  that  an  eminent 
Scotist  assured  him  that  it  was  impossible  to  understand  one  single 
proposition  of  this  famous  '  Duns  '   unless   you  had   his  whole  me- 
taphysics   by  heart."     He  was  a  teacher  of  the   Franciscan  order, 
called  the  "sable  doctor,"  and  \Vas  the  last  to  be  given  up  by  the  ad- 
herents of  the  old  learning.     Our  word  "  Dunce  "  is  supposed  to  be 
derived  from  his  name.     "  Remember  ye  not,"  says  Tyndai,  "how 
within  there  these  thirty  years,  and  far  less,  the  old   barking  curs, 
*  Dunce's  disciples'   (meaning  Dims  Scotus),   and   like  draff  called 
Scotists,   the  children  of  darkness,  raged   in  every  pulpit  against 
Greek,  Latin,  and  Hebrew?"     See  Trench  on  the   "Study  of  Words." 
The  Thomists  were  the  pupils  of  Thomas   Aquinas,  another  theolo- 
gian of  those  ages,  but  a  great  genius  notwithstanding. 


«<  A  place  near  SmitiifleUi  wfcerg  old  aafl  secondhand  books  wer& 

90ld, 


ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  53 

In  various  shapes  of  parsons,  critics,  beaux;1 
But  sense  survived,  when  merry  jests  were  past; 
For  rising  merit  will  buoy  up  at  last. 
Might  he  return,  and  bless  once  more  our  eyes, 
New  Blackmores2  and  New  Milbourns  must  arise: 
Nay,  should  great  Homer  lift  his  awful  head, 
Zoiius3  again  would  start  up  from  the  dead. 
Envy  will  merit,  as  its  shade,  pursue; 
But  like  a  shadow,  proves  the  substance  true: 
For  envied  wit,  like  Sol  eclipsed,  makes  known 
Th'  opposing  body's  grossness,  not  its  own. 
When  first  that  sun  too  pow'rful  beams  displays, 
It  draws  up  vapours  which  obscure  its  rays  ; 
But  even  those  clouds  at  last  adorn  its  way, 
Reflect  new  glories,  and  augment  the  day. 
"<      Be  thou  the  first  true  merit  to  befriend  ; 
His  praise  is  lost,  who  stays,  till  all  com 
Short  is  the  date,  alas,  of  modern  rhymes, 
And  'tis  but  just  to  let  them  live  betimes. 
•'  No  longer  now  that  golden  age  appears, 
When  patriarch-wits  survived  a  thousand  years: 
Now  length  of  fame  (our  second  life)  is  lost,    I 
And  bare  threescore  is  all  even  that  can  boast;  \ 
Our  sons  their  fathers'  failing  language  see, 
And  such  as  Chaucer  is,  shall  Dryden  be. 
So  when  the  faithful  pencil  has  designed 
Some  bright  idea  of  the  master's  mind, 
Where  a  new  world  leaps  out  at  his  command, 
And  ready  nature  waits  upon  his  hand; 
When  the  ripe  colours  soften  and  unite, 
And  sweetly  melt  into  just  shade  and  light; 
When  mellowing  years  their  full  perfection  give, 
And  each  bold  figure  just  begins  to  live, 


1  The  parson  alluded  to  was  Jeremy  Collier,  who  powerfully  and 
justly  attacked  the  extreme  licence  of  the  stage.    The  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham was  the  critic,  who  ridiculed  Dryden's  occasional  bombast 
in  his  plays.    The  Duke  wrote  the  "Rehearsal,"  from  whence  Sheri- 
dan's "  Critic  "  was  undoubtedly  derived. 

2  Blackmore  satirised  Dryden  in  his  "  Satire  against  Will,"  1700. 
He  finds  just  fault  with  the  indecency  of  Dryden's  plays.    Milbourn 
wrote  "  Notes  to  Dryden's  Virgil,"  1698.    His  criticisms  were  unjust 
and  contemptible. 

3  Zoiius  was  the  critic  on  Homer.    In  the  fifth  book  of  Vitruviua 
is  an  account  of  Zoiius  coming  to  the  Court  of  Ptolemy  at  Alexandria, 
and  presenting  to  him  his  virulent  and  brutal  censures  of  Homer, 
and  begging  to  be  rewarded  for  his  work.     The  King,  it  is  said,  or- 
dered him  to  be  crucified,  or,  as  some  say,  stoned."— Norton. 


54  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

The  treacherous  colours  the  fair  art  betray, 
And  all  the  bright  creation  fades  away ! 

Unhappy  wit,  like  most  mistaken  things, 
Atones  not  for  that  envy  which  it  brings. 
In  youth  alone  its  empty  praise  we  boast, 
But  soon  the  short-lived  vanity  is  lost; 
Like  some  fair  flow'r  the  early  spring  supplies, 
That  gaily  blooms,  but  even  in  blooming  dies. 
What  is  this  wit,  which  must  our  cares  employ? 
The  owner's  wife,  that  other  men  enjoy; 
Then  most  our  trouble  still  when  most  admired, 
And  still  the  more  we  give,  the  more  required; 
Whose  fame  with  pains  we  guard,  but  lose  with  ease, 
Sure  some  to  vex,  but  never  all  to  please; 
'Tis  what  the  vicious  fear,  the  virtuous  shun, 
By  fools  'tis  hated,  and  by  knaves  undone ! 

If  wit  so  much. from  ign'rance  undergo, 
All,  let  not  learning  too  commence  its  foe  ? 
Of  old,  those  met  rewards  who  could  excel, 
And  such  were  praised  who  but  endeavoured  well: 
Though  triumphs  were  to  gen'rals  only  due, 
Crowns  were  reserved  to  grace  the  soldiers  too. 
Now,  they  who  reach  Parnassus'  lofty  crown, 
Employ  their  pains  to  spurn  some  others  down; 
And  while  self-love  each  jealous  writer  rules, 
Contending  wits  become  the  sport  of  fools; 
But  still  the  worst  with  most  regret  commend, 
For  each  ill  author  is  as  bad  a  Mend. 
To  what  base  ends,  and  by  what  abject  ways, 
Are  mortals  urged  through  sacred  lust  of  praise ! 
Ah,  ne'er  so  dire  a  thirst  of  glory  boast, 
]  Nor  in  the  critic  let  the  man  be  lost. 

Good-nature  and  good-sense  must  ever  join; 
k  To  err  is  human,  to  forgive,  divine. 

But  if  in  noble  minds  some  dregs  remain 
Not  yet  purged  off,  of  spleen  and  sour  disdain; 
Discharge  that  rage  on  more  provoking  crimes, 
Nor  fear  a  dearth  in  these  flagitious  times. 
No  pardon  vile  obscenity  should  find, 
Though  wit  and  art  conspire  to  move  your  mind; 
But  dulness  with  obscenity  must  prove 
As  shameful  sure  as  impotence  in  love. 
In  the  fat  age  of  pleasure,  wealth,  and  ea 
Bprung  the  rank  weed,  and  thrived  with  large  increase; 


ESS  A  Y  ON  CRITICISM.  55 

When  love  was  all  an  easy  monarch's  care;1 

Seldom  at  council,  never  in  a  war: 

Jilts  ruled  the  state,  and  statesmen  farces  writ:2 

Nay,  wits  had  pensions,  and  young  lords  had  wit: 

The  fair  sat  panting  at  a  courtier's  play, 

And  not  a  mask  went  unimproved  away:3 

The  modest  fan  was  lifted  up  no  more, 

And  virgins  smiled  at  what  they  blushed  before. 

The  following  licence  of  a  foreign  reign 

Did  all  the  dregs  of  bold  Socinus  drain;4 

Then  unbelieving  priests  reformed  the  nation, 

And  taught  more  pleasant  methods  of  salvation; 

Where  Heav'n's  free  subjects  might  their  rights  dis- 

pute, 

Lest  God  Himself  should  seem  too  absolute; 
Pulpits  their  sacred  satire  learned  to  spare, 
And  vice  admired  to  find  a  flatterer  there  ! 
Encouraged  thus,  wit's  Titan's  braved  the  skies, 
And  the  press  groaned  with  licensed  blasphemies, 
These  monsters,  critics  !  with  your  darts  engage, 
Here  point  your  thunder,  and  exhaust  your  rage  ! 
Yet  shun  their  fault,  who,  scandalously  nice, 
Will  needs  mistake  an  author  into  vice; 
AH  seems  infected  that  th'  infected  spy, 
As  all  looks  yellow  to  the  jaundiced  eye. 

in. 

LEARN  then  what  morals  critics  ought  to  show, 
For  'tis  but  half  a  judge's  task  to  know. 
'Tis  not  enough,  taste,  judgment,  learning,  join;  /  / 
In  all  you  speak,  let  truth  and  candour  shine  : 
That  not  alone  what  to  your  sense  is  due 
All  may  allow;  but  seek  your  friendship  too. 

1  Charles  II. 

2  He  alludes  to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  who,  as  we  have  said 
wrote  "  The  Rehearsal." 

3  Ladies  used  at  that  time  to  wear  masks  at  the  play  ;   probably  ou 
account  of  the  immorality  of  the  stage. 

4  The  reign  of  William  III.    The  principles  of  the  Socinians  are 
understood,  of  course  by  "Socinus."    Warburtou  called  some  of  the 
clergy  of  William's  time  Latitudinarian  divines.     The  author  has  omit- 
ted two  lines  which  stood  here,  as  containing  a  national  reflection, 
which  in  his  stricter  judgment  he  could  not  but  disapprove  on  any 
people  whatever.*—  Pope. 


*  The  cancelled  couplet  was  : 

Then  first  the  Belgian  morals  were  extolled, 

W©  tbeir  religion,  liud,  and  tliey  our  gold.—  Croker. 


56  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

Be  silent  always  when  you  doubt  your  sense; 
And  speak,  though  sure,  with  seeming  diffidence: 
Some  positive,  persisting  fops  we  know, 
Who,  if  once  wrong,  will  needs  be  always  so; 
But  you,  with  pleasure,  own  your  errors  past, 
And  make  each  day  a  critique  on  the  last. 

'Tis  not  enough,  your  counsel  still  be  true; 
Blunt  truth  more  mischief  than  nice  falsehoods  do; 
Men  must  be  taught  as  if  you  taught  them  not, 
And  things  unknown  proposed  as  things  forgot. 
Without  good  breeding,  truth  is  disapproved; 
That  only  makes  superior  sense  beloved. 

!      Be  niggards  of  advice  on  no  pretence 
For  the  worst  avarice  is  that  of  sense. 

,  With  mean  complacence  ne'er  betray  your  trust, 
Nor  be  so  civil  as  to  prove  unjust. 

•  Fear  not  the  anger  of  the  wise  to  raise; 
Those  best  can  bear  reproof  who  merit  •_ 

'Twere  well  might  critics  still  this  freedom  take, 
But  Appius  reddens  at  each  word  you  speak, 
And  stares,  tremendous,  with  a  threatening  eye,1 
Like  some  fierce  tyrant  in  old  tapestry. 
Fear  most  to  tax  an  Honourable  fool, 
Whose  right  it  is,  uncensured  to  be  dull; 
Such,  without  wit,  are  poets  when  they  please, 
As  without  learning  they  can  take  degrees.2 
Leave  dangerous  truths  to  unsuccessful  satires, 
And  flattery  to  fulsome  dedicators, 
Whom,  when  they  praise,  the  world  believes  no  more, 
Than  when  they  promise  to  give  scribbling  o'er. 
'Tis  best  sometimes  your  censure  to  restrain, 
And  charitably  let  the  dull  be  vain: 
Your  silence  there  is  better  than  your  spite, 
For  who  can  rail  so  long  as  they  can  write  ? 
Still  humming  on  their  drowsy  course  they  keep, 
And  lashed  so  long,  like  tops,  are  lashed  asleep, 
False  steps  but  help  them  to  renew  the  racf^ 
As,  after  stumbling,  jades  will  mend  their  pace. 

1  This  picture  was  taken  to  himself  by  John  Dennis,  a  furious  old 
critic  by  profession,  who,  upon  no  other  provcation,  wrote  against 
this  essay  and  its  author,  in  a  manner  perfectly  lunatic :  for,  as  to 
the  mention  made  of  him  in  veri  270,  he  took  it  as  a  compliment,  and 
said  it  was  treacherously  meant  to  cause  him  to  overlook  this  abuse 
of  his  person. — Pope. 

2  At  that  time  noblemen  and  sons  of  noblemen  were  allowed  to 
take  the  degree  of  M.  A.  after  keeping  the  terms  for  two  ye^rs,    Thjfe 
absurd  privilege  is  of  course  abolished, 


ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  57 

What  crowds  of  these  impenitently  bold, 

In  sounds  And  jingling  syllables  grown  old, 

Still  run  on  poets,  in  a  raging  vein, 

Even  to  the  dregs  and  squeezings  of  the  brain, 

Strain  out  the  last  dull  droopings  of  their  sense, 

And  rhyme  with  all  the  rage  of  impotence. 

Such  shameless  bards  we  have;  and  yet  'tis  true^ 
There  are  as  mad  abandoned  critics  too, 
The  bookful  blockhead,  ignorantly  read, 
With  loads  of  learned  lumber  in  his  head, 
With  his  own  tongue  still  edifies  his  ears, 
And  always  list'ning  to  himself  appears. 
All  books  he  reads,  and  all  he  reads  assails, 
From  Dryden's  fables  down  to  Durfey's  tales. 
With  him,  most  authors  steal  their  works,  or  buy 
Garth  did  not  write  his  own  Dispensary.1 
Name  a  new  play,  and  he's  the  poet's  friend, 
Nay,  showed  his  faults — but  when  would  poets  mend  ? 
No  place  so  sacred  from  such  fops  is  barred, 
Nor  is  Paul's  church  more  safe  than  Paul's  church- 
yard: 

Nay,  fly  to  altars;  there  they'll  talk  you  dead: 
^  For  fools  rnsh  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread. 

Distrustful  sense  with  modest  caution  speaks, 
I  It  still  looks  home  and  short  excursions  makes; 
But  rattling  nonsense  in  full  volleys  breaks, 
And  never  shocked,  and  never  turned  aside, 
Bursts  out,  resistless,  with  a  thund'ring  tide. 

But,  where's  the  man,  who  counsel  can  bestow,    I 
Still  pleased  to  teach,  and  yet  not  proud  to  know  ?  I 
Unbiassed,  or  by  favour,  or  by  spite; 
Not  dully  prepossessed,  nor  blindly  right ! 
Though  learned,  well-bred;    and  though  well-bred 

sincere, 

Modestly  bold,  and  humanly  severe: 
Who  to  a  friend  his  faults  can  freely  show, ;; 
And  gladly  praise  the  merit  of  a  foe  ? 
Blest  with  a  taste  exact,  yet  unconfined; 
A  knowledge  both  of  books  and  human  kind:  — 
Gen'rous  converse;  a  soul  exempt  from  pride; 
And  love  to  praise,  with  reason  on  his  side  ? 

1  A  common  slander  at  that  time  in  prejudice  of  that  deserving 
author.  Our  poet  did  him  this  justice,  when  that  slander  most  pre- 
vailed :  and  it  is  now  (perhaps  the  sooner  for  this  very  vecpm  UoaU 
and  forgotten,— foge. 


58  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

Such  once  were  critics;  such  the  happy  few, 
Athens  and  Rome  in  better  ages  knew, 
The  mighty  Stagirite  first  left  the  shore, 
Spread  all  his  sails,  and  durst  the  deeps  explore: 
He  steered  securely,  and  discovered  far, 
Led  by  the  light  of  the  Maeonian  star. 
Poets,  a  race  long  unconfined,  and  free, 
Still  fond  and  proud  of  savage  liberty, 
Received  his  laws;  and  stood  convinced  'twas  fit, 
"Who  conquered  nature,1  should  preside  o'er  wit. 

Horace  still  charms  with  graceful  negligence, 
And  without  method  talks  us  into  sense, 
Will,  like  a  friend,  familiarly  convey  j 
The  truest  notions  in  the  easiest  way.  I 
He,  who  supreme  in  judgment,  as  in  wit, 
Might  boldly  censure,  as  he  boldly  writ, 
Yet  judged  with  coolness,  though  he  sung  with  fire; 
His  precepts  teach  but  what  his  works  inspire, 
Our  critics  take  a  contrary  extreme,  \ 

They  judge  with  fury,  but  they  write  with  phlegm:  \ 
Nor  suffers  Horace  more  in  wrong  translations 
By  wits,  than  critics  in  as  wrong  quotations. 

See  Dionysius  Homer's  thoughts  refine,2 
And  call  new  beauties  forth  from  every  line  . 

Fancy  and  art  in  gay  Petronius  please,3 
The  scholar's  learning,  with  the  courtier's  ease. 

In  'grave  Quintilian's  copious  work,  we  find4 
The  justest  rules,  and  clearest  method  joined: 
Thus  useful  arms  in  magazines  we  place, 
All  ranged  in  order  and  disposed  with  grace, 
But  less  to  please  the  eye  than  arm  the  hand, 
Still  fit  for  use,  and  ready  at  command. 

Thee,  bold  Longinus !  all  the  Nine  inspire,5 

1  Aristotle  wrote  a  history  of  animals.    Alexander  gave  orders  that 
the  creatures  of  the  different  countries  he  conquered  should  be  sent 
to  Aristotle  for  inspection. 

2  Of  Halicarnassus. — Pope.    He  was  an  historian  and  critic,   and 
lived  in  the  first  century  before  Christ. 

3  Petronius,  an  elegant  Latin  poet,  the  favourite  of  Nero. .  Being 
suspected  of  a  conspiracy  against  the  tyrant,  he  destroyed  himself 
by  opening  his  veins,  A.D.  65. 

4  Quintillian,  a  Latin  critic  of  great  celebrity.    He  was  intimate 
with  Pliny,   and  died  at  Rome  A.D.  60.    His  "  Institutiones  Orato- 
ricas  "  are  well-known. 

5  Longiuus,  a  native  of  Athens,  was  celebrated  as  a  critic  and  phil- 
osopher.   He  became  tutor  to  the  children  of  Zeiiobia,  Queen  of 
Palmyra,  and  was  put  to  death  by  Aurelian  on  the  charge  of  having 
instigated  her  rebellion  against  Rome  A,,P,  273,    Hitf  "Treatise  on  UiQ 
Sublime  "  is  well  known. 


ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  59 

And  bless  their  critic  with  a  poet's  fire. 
An  ardent  judge,  who  zealous  in  his  trust, 
"With  warmth  gives  sentence,  yet  is  always  just; 
Whose  own  examples  strengthens  all  his  laws; 
And  is  himself  that  great  sublime  he  draws. 

Thus  long  succeeding  critics  justly  reigned, 
Licence  repressed,  and  useful  laws  ordained. 
Learning  and  Home  alike  in  empire  grew; 
And  arts  still  followed  where  her  eagles  flew; 
Eroin  the  same  foes,  at  last,  both  felt  their  doom, 
And  the  same  age  saw  learning  fall,  and  Home.1 — — > 
\\iih  tyranny,  then  superstition  joined, 
As  that  the  body,  this  enslaved  the  mind; 
Much  was  believed,  but  little  understood, 
And  to  be  dull  was  construed  to  be  good; 
A  second  deluge  learning  thus  o'er-run, 
And  the  monks  finished  what  the  Goths  begun.  ^ 

At  length  Erasmus — that  great  injured  name, 
(The  glory  ofthe~priesthood,  and  the  shame  !)2 
Stemmed  the  wild  torrent  of  a  barb'rous  age, 
And  drove  those  holy  Vandals  off  the  stage. 

But  see !  each  muse  in  Leo's  golden  days,3 
Starts  from  her  trance,  and  trims  her  withered  bays, 
Eome's  ancient  genius,  o'er  its  ruins  spread, 
Shakes  off  the  dust,  and  rears  his  rev'rend  head. 
Then  sculpture  and  her  sister-arts  revive; 
Stones  leaped  to  form,  and  rocks  began  to  live; 
With  sweeter  notes  each  rising  temple  rung; 
A  Kaphael  painted  and  a  Vida  sung.4 

1  There  was  a  gradual  declination  of  the  light  of  literature  and  the 
arts,  except  what  might  be  called  occasional  corruscations  of  supe- 
rior brilliancy  from  the  genius  of  Tacitus,  Juvenal,  &c.,  from  the 
time  of  Augustus  to  the  tenth  century,  which  seemed  to  envelop 
Europe  in  the  darkness  and  ignorance  of  barbarism. 

2  Erasmus  was  one  of  the  greatest  men  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
He  was  a  student  of  the  reviving  learning  of  the  Greeks,  and   trans- 
lated many  of  the  classical  writers ;— above  all  the  age  owed  him  an 
excellent  edition  of  the  New  Testament  in  Greek.    Erasmus  wrote 
against  the  corruptions  of  the  Romish  Church ;  and  though  he  never 
left  its  pale,  prepared  the  way  for    Luther  by  his    "  Enchiridion 
Militis  Christian!."    Erasmus  visited  England,  and  while  there  stay, 
ed  in  the  house  of  Sir  Thomas  More. 

3  Leo  X.,  son  of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  was  born  at  Florence  1475,  and 
died  1521 .     He  was  very  learned  himself,  and  the  encourager  and 
patron  of  learned  men.    Italy  possessed  in  his  time  the  great  poeta 
Tasso  and  Ariosto;   the  historians  Guicciardini  and  Machiavelli; 
Michael  Angelo,  Kaphael,  and  Titian,  painters.    Leo  enriched  the 
libraries  of  Italy  with  valuable  MSS.,  and  encouraged  the  study  of 
the  classics. 

4  Mark  Jerome  Vida  was  born  at  Cremona,  1470.    He  was  a  cele- 
bra  ted  poet  in  his  day.  and  one  of  the  favorite  learned  men  of  Leo  X. 
Bis  work*  were  the  4rs  I'oetica,  Christiad,  &c ,  &c. 


60  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

Immortal  Vida:  on  whose  honoured  brow 
The  poet's  bays  and  critic's  ivy  grow: 
Cremona  now  shall  ever  boast  thy  name, 
As  next  in  place  to  Mantua,  next  in  fame  ! 

But  soon  by  impious  arms  from  Latium  chased, 
Their  ancient  bounds  the  banished  Muses  passed; 
Thence  arts  o'er  all  the  northern  world  advance, 
But  critic-learning  flourished  most  in  France: 
The  rules  a  nation,  born  to  serve,  obeys; 
And  Boileau  still  in  right  of  Horace  sways.1 — 
But  we,  brave  Britons,  foreign  laws  despised, 
And  kept  unconquered,  and  uncivilized; 
Fierce  for  the  liberties  of  wit,  and  bold, 
Wejstill  defy  thej^omans,  as  of  olcL 
TeFsome  there  wefeTamong  the  sounder  few 
Of  those  who  less  presumed,  and  better  knew, 
Who  durst  assert  the  juster  ancient  cause, 
And  here  restored  wit's  fundamental  laws. 
Such  was  the  muse,  whose  rules  and  practice  tell,2 
"  Nature's  chief  master-piece  is  writing  well." 
Such  was  Roscommon,3  not  more  learned  than  good, 
With  manners  gen'rous  as  his  noble  blood; 


1  Boileau,  a  French  -writer  and  critic.    His  "  Art  of  Poetry"  is  his 
masterpiece.     He  was  born  1636,  and  died  1711.    His  "  Lutrin  "  and 
11  Satires  "  are  Standard  French  works.    He  was  patronized  bv  Louis 
XIV. 

2  "  Essay  on  Poetry,"  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham.    Our  poet  is  not 
the  only  one  of  his  time  who  complimented  this  essay,  and  its  noble 
author.    Mr.  Dryden  had  done  it  very  largely  in  the  dedication  to  his 
translation  of  the  ^Jneid :  and  Dr.  Garth  in  the  first  edition  of  his 
"  Dispensary"  says — 

"  The  Tiber  now  no  courtly  Gallus  sees, 

But  smiling  Thames  enjoys  his  Normanbys ; 

though  afterwards  omitted,  when  parties  were  carried  so  high  in  the 
reign  of  Queen  Ajine,  as  to  allow  no  commendation  to  an  opposite  in 
politics.  The  Duke  was  all  his  life  a  steady  adherent  to  the  Church  of 
England  party,  yet  an  enemy  to  the  extravagant  measures  of  the  court 
in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  on  which  account,  after  having  strongly 
patronized  Mr.  Dryden,  a  coolness  succeeded  between  them  on  that 
poet's  absolute  attachment  to  the  court,  which  carried  him  some 
lengths  beyond  what  the  Duke  could  approve  of.  This  nobleman's 
true  character  had"  been  very  well  marked  by  Mr.  Dryden  before, 

"  The  muse's  friend, 
Himself  amuse.    In  Sanadrin's  debate 

True  to  his  prince,  but  not  a  slave  of  state."— Abs.  and  Achit. 
Our  author  was  more  happy,  he  was  honoured  very  young  with  his 
friendship,  and  it  continued  till  his  death  in  all  the  circumstances  of  a 
familiar  esteem. — Pope. 

3  Lord  Roscommon.  the  author  of  ah  "  Essay  on  Translated  Verse." 
He  was  more  learned  than  Buckingham,  and  was  educated  by  Bochart, 
near  Caen,  in  Normandy.    He  had  formed  a  design  for  founding  a  so- 
ciety for  refining  and  fixing  the  standard  of  English,  in  which  project 
his  intimate  friend  Drydeu  wag  a,  principal  assistant,    He  was  born 
1G33,  died  1684. 


ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  61 

To  him  the  wit  of  Greece  and  Home  was  known, 
And  ev'ry  author's  merit,  but  his  own. 
Such  late  was  Walsh3 — the  muse's  judge  and  friend, 
Who  justly  knew  to  blame  or  to  commend; 
To  failings  mild,  but  zealous  to  desert; 
The  clearest  head  and  the  sincerest  heart. 
This  humble  praise,  lamented  shade !  receive, 
This  praise  at  least  a  grateful  muse  may  give; 
The  muse,  whose  early  voice  you  taught  to  sing, 
Prescribed  her  heights,  and  pruned  her  tender  wing, 
(Her  guide  now  lost)  no  more  attempts  to  rise, 
But  in  low  numbers  short  excursions  tries: 
}  Content,  if  hence  th'  unlearned  their  wants  may  view, 
The  learned  reflect  on  what  before  they  knew: 
Careless  of  censure,  nor  too  fond  of  fame; 
Still  pleased  to  praise,  yet  not  afraid  to  blame, 
Averse  alike  to  flatter,  or  offend; 
Not  free  from  faults,  nor  yet  too  vain  to  menfl. 


1  Walsh  was  born  1663,  died  1709.  He  was  a  very  inferior  writer, 
but  he  was  of  immense  service  to  Pope  by  pointing  out  to  him  tLcvt  he 
might  excel  any  of  his  predecessors  by  studying  correctness. 


f 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

AN  HEROI-COMICAL  POEM. 

Nolueram,  Belinda,  tuos  violare  capillos; 
Sed  juvat,  hoc  precibus  me  tribuisse  tuis.2 

MART.,  Epigr.  XII.,  84, 

1712 
TO  MRS.  ARABELLA  FERMOR.3 

MADAM, — It  will  be  in  vain  to  deny  that  I  have  some  re- 
gard for  this  piece,  since  I  dedicate  it  to  you.  Yet,  you 
may  bear  me  witness,  it  was  intended  only  to  divert  a  few 
young  ladies,  who  have  good  sense  and  good  humour  enough 
to  laugh  not  only  at  their  sex's  little  unguarded  follies,  but  at 
their  own.  But  as  it  was  communicated  with  the  air  of  a 
secret,  it  soon  found  its  way  into  the  world.  An  imperfect 
copy  having  been  offered  to  a  bookseller,  you  had  the  good 
nature  for  my  sake  to  consent  to  the  publication  of  one  more 
correct.  Tliis  I  was  forced  to,  before  I  had  executed  half 
my  design,  for  the  machinery  was  entirely  wanting  to  com- 
plete it. 

1  "The  Rape  of  the  Lock,"  says  De  Quincey,  "is  the  most  ex- 
quisite monument  of  playful  fancy  that  universal  literature  offers." 
The  stealing  of  the  lock  of  hair  appears  to  have  been  a  fact,  as  Pope 
in  Spence  says  that  it  "  was  taken  too  seriously,  and  caused  an  es- 
trangement between  the  two  families,  though  they  had  lived  so  long 
in  great  friendship  before." 

2  It  appears,  by  this  motto,  that  the  following  poem  was  written 
or  published  at  the  lady's  request.    But  there  ate  some  further  cir- 
cumstances not  unworthy  relating.    Mr.  Caryll  (a  gentleman  who 
was  secretary  to  Queen  Mary,  wife  of  James  II.,  whose  fortunes  he 
followed  into  France,  author  of  the  comedy  of  "  Sir  Solomon  Sin- 
gle," and  of  several  translations  in  Dryden's  Miscellanies)  originally 
proposed  the  subject  to  him   in  a  view  of  putting  an  end,  by  this 
piece  of  ridicule,  to  a  quarrel  that  was  risen  between  two  noble 
families,  those  of  Lord  Petre  and  of  Mrs.  Fermor,  on  the  trifling 
occasion  of  his  having  cut  off  a  lock  of  her  hair.     The  author  sent 
it  to  the  lady,  with  whom  he  was  acquainted  :  and  she  look  it  so  well 
as  to  give  about  copies  of  it.     That  first  sketch  (we  lenrn  from    no  of 
his  letters)  was  written  in  loss  than  a  fortnight,  in  1711,  in  two  <  antos 
only,  and   it  was  so  printed;  first,  in  a  miscoliaiiy  of  hern,  Linlol's, 
without  the  name  of  the  author.     But  it  was  received  so  well  that  lie 
made    it.  more  considerable  the  next  year  by  the  add  it  ion  of  the 
machinery  of    the  sylphs,  and  extended   it  to  five  cantos.     .     .    . 
This  insertion  he  always  esteemed,  and  justly,  the  greatest  effort  of 
his  skill  and  art  as  a  poet. —  Warburtnn, 

3  Mrs.,  not  Miss,  was  prefixed  to  the  names  of  unmarried  ladies  at 
that  period  as  well  as  to  those  of  married  ones.     Miss  \vas  used  only 
for  children  and  young  girls  not  quite  grown  up.     Arabella  Fermor 
married  Mr.  Perkins  of  Upton,  Cgurt,  near  Heading,  in  17U,    She 
died  1738. 


THE  EAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  63 

The  machinery,  madam,  is  a  term  invented  by  the  critics, 
to  signify  that  j)art  winch  the  deities,  angels,  or  demons  are 
made  to  act  in  a  poem.  For  the  ancient  poets  are  in  one  re- 
spect like  many  modern  ladies :  let  an  action  be  never  so 
trivial  in  itself,  they  always  make  it  appear  of  the  utmost 
importance.  These  machines  I  determined  to  raise  on  a  very 
new  and  odd  foundation,  the  Rosicrucian  doctrine  of  spirits. 

I  know  how  disagreeable  it  is  to  make  use  of  hard  worda 
before  a  lady ;  but  it  is  so  much  the  concern  of  a  poet  to  hav.e 
his  works  understood,  and  particularly  by  your  sex,  that  you 
must  give  me  leave  to  explain  two  or  three  difficult  terms. 

The  Rosicrucians  are  a  people  I  must  bring  you  acquainted 
with.  The  best  account  I  know  of  them  is  m  a  French  book 
called  Le  Comte  de  Gabalis, !  which  both  in  its  title  and  size 
is  so  like  a  novel,  that  many  of  the  fair  sex  have  read  it  for 
one  by  mistake.  According  to  these  gentlemen,  the  f  our 
elements  are  inhabited  by  spirits,  which  they  call  sylphs, 
gnomes,  nymphs,  and  salamander^.  The  gnomes  or  demons 
of  earth  deligTft  in  mischief ;  but  the  sylphs,  wliose  habita- 
tion is  in  the  air,  are  the  bcst-conditioriecTc'fe'atures  imagina- 
ble. For  they  say,  any  mortals  may  enjoy  the  most  inti- 
mate familiarities  with  these  gentle  spirits,  upon  a  condition 
very  easy  to  all  true  adepts,  an  inviolate  preservation  of 
chastity. 

As  to  the  following  cantos,  all  the  passages  of  them  are  as 
fabulous  as  the  vision  at  the  beginning,  or  the  transformation 
at  the  end;  (except  the  loss  of  your  hair,  which  I  always 
mention  with  reverence.)  The  human  persons  are  as  fictitious 
as  the  airy  ones ;  and  the  character  of  Belinda,  as  it  is  now 
managed,  resembles  you  in  nothing  but  in  beauty.2 

If  this  poem  had  as  many  graces  as  there  are  in  your  per- 
son, or  in  your  mind,  yet  I  could  never  hope  it  should  pass 
through  the  world  half  so  uncensured  as  you  have  done. 
But  let  its  fortune  be  what  it  will,  mine  is  happy  enough,  to 
have  given  me  this  occasion  of  assuring  you  that  I  am,  with 
the  truest  esteem,  Madam,  Your  most  obedient,  humble  ser- 
vant, 

A.  POPE. 


1  Written  by  the  Abbe  Villars.    He  was  assassinated  by  robbers  be- 
fore the  work  was  finished. 

2  Miss  Fermor  had  been  very  much  pained  by  being  thought  to 
have  afforded  the  portrait  of  Belinda  in  her  own  person.    The  fel- 
lowing  lines  by  Scott  explain  the  doctrine  of  the  Rosier ucians : — 

These  be  the  adept's  doctrines— every  element 
Is  peopled  with  its  separate  race  of  spirits. 
/         The  airy  Sylphs  on  the  blue  ether  float; 
\   /         Deep  in  the  earthly  cavern  skulks  the  Gnome; 
The  sea-green  Naiad  skims  the  ocean- billow, 
And  the  fierce  fire  is  yet  a  friendly  home 
To  its  peculiar  sprite— the  Salamander. 

Waller  Scott. 


64  THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 


CANTO  L 

WHAT  dire  offence  from  am'rous  causes  springs, 
What  mighty  contests  rise  from  trivial  things, 
I'sing— This  verse  to  Caryll,  Muse!  is  due; 
This,  even  Belinda,  may  vouchsafe  to  view: 
Slight  is  the  subject,  but  not  so  the  praise, 
If  she  inspire,  and  he  approve  my  lays. 

Say  what  strange  motive,  goddess!  could  compel 
A  well-bred  lord  t'  assault  a  gentle  belle  ?* 
O  say  what  stranger  cause,  yet  unexplored, 
Could  make  a  gentle  belle  reject  a  lord ! 
In  tasks  so  bold,  can  little  men  engage, 
And  in  soft  bosoms  dwells  such  mighty  rage  ? 

Sol  through  white  curtains  shot  a  tim'rous  ray, 
And  oped  those  eyes  that  must  eclipse  the  day : 
Now  lap-dogs  give  themselves  the  rousing  shake, 
And  sleepless  lovers,  just  at  twelve,  awake: 
Twice  rung  the  bell,  the  slipper  knocked  the  ground,* 
And  the  pressed  watch  returned  a  silver  sound. 
Belinda  still  her  downy  pillow  prest, 
Her  guardian  sylph  prolonged  the  balmy  rest: 
v   'Twas  he  had  summoned  to  her  silent  bed 
The  morning-dream  that  hovered  o'er  her  Head  ; 
A  youth  more  glitt'ring   than  a  birth-night  beau, 
(That  even  in  slumber  caused  her  cheek  to  glow) 
Seemed  to  her  ear  his  winning  lips  to  lay, 
And  thus  in  whispers  said,  or  seemed  to  say: — 

"Fairest  of  mortals,  thou  distinguished  care 
Of  thousand  bright  inhabitants  of  air! 
If  e'er  one  vision  touched  thy  infant  thought, 
Of  all  the  nurse  and  all  the  priest  have  taught; 

1  Of  the  characters  introduced  into  this  poem,  Belinda  was  Mrs. 
Arabella  Fermor :  the  Baron  was  Lord  Petre,  of  small  stature,  who 
soon  after  married  a  great  heiress,  Mrs.  Warmsley,  and  died  leaving 
a  posthumous  son.     Thalestris  was  Mrs.  Morley ;  Sir  Plume  was  her 
brother,  Sir  George  Brown  of  Berkshire.    Copied  from  a  MS.  in  a 
book  presented  by  E.  Lord  Burlington  to  Mrs.  William  Sherwin. — 
Warton. 

All  the  characters  were  Roman  Catholics. 

2  The  bell  was  a  handbell..   Bell-hanging  In  houses  was  not  com- 
mon till  long  after  the  date  of  this  poem.     Servants  waited  in  ante- 
rooms, and  were  summoned  by  the  handbell.    Ladies  summouea 
their  maids  to  their  bedrooms  by  knocking  witb.  their  Mgh.fceeiea 
shoes,  or  with  their  slipper. 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  65 

Of  airy  elves  by  moonlight  shadows  seen, 
The  silver  token,  and  the  circled  green1 
Or  virgins  visited  by  angel-pow'rs, 
With  golden  crowns  and  wreaths  of  heav'nly  flow'rs; 
Hear  and  believe!  thy own importance  know, 
Nor  bound  thy  narrow  views  to  things  below, 
Some  secret  truths,  from  learned  pride  concealed, 
To  maids  alone  and  children  are  revealed: 
What  though  no  credit  doubting  wits  may  give  ? 
The  fair  and  innocent  shall  still  believe. 
Know  then,  unnumbered  spirits  round  thee  flyA 
The  light  militia  of  the  lower  sky: 
These,  though  unseen;  are  ever  on  the  wing, 
Hang  o'er  the  box,  and  hover  round  the  King.2 
Think  what  an  equipage  thou  hast  in  air, 
And  view  with  scorn  two  pages  and  a  chair. 
As  now  your  own,  our  beings  were  of  old, 
'  And  once  enclosed  in  woman's  beauteous  mould  ; 
Thence,  by  a  soft  transition,  we  repair 
From  earthly  vehicles  to  these  of  air. 
Think  not,  when  woman's  transient  breath  is  fledj 
That  all  her  vanities  at  once  are  dead ; 
Succeeding  vanities  she  still  regards, 
And  though  she  plays  no  more,  o'erlooks  the  cards^ 
Her  joy  in  gilded  chariots,  when  alive, 
And  love  of  ombre,  after  death  survive.  ~* 
For  when  the  fair  in  all  their  pride  expire, 
To  their  first  elements  their  souls,  retire  : 
The  sprites  of  fiery  termagants  in  flame 
Mount  up,  and  take  a  salamander's  name. 
Soft  yielding  minds  to  water  glide  away, 
And  sip,  with  nymphs,  their  elemental  tea. 
The  graver  prude  sinks  downward  to  a  gnome, 
In  search  of  mischief  still  on  earth  to  roam. 
The  light  coquettes  in  sylphs  aloft  repair, 
And  sport  and  flutter  in  the  fields  of  air. 

"Know  further  yet;  whoever  fair  and  chaste 
Eejects  mankind,  is  by  some  sylph  embraced; 

1  "  The  silver  token"— the  silver  penny,  which  the  tidy  housemaid 
found  in  her  shoe — "  the  circled  green,"  the  fairy  rings  on  the  grass, 
supposed  to  mark  the  spot  where  fairies  had  danced. 

2  The  box  at  the  theatre,  the  Ring  in  Hyde  Pa,rk. 

3  "  Quae  gratia  currum 
Armorumque  f  uit  vivis,  quae  cura  nitentes 

Pascere  equos,  eadem  sequitur  tellure  repostos," — Virg.  2En,  VI.— 


66  THE  EAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

For  spirits,  freed  from  mortal  laws,  with  ease 
Assume  what  sexes  and  what  shapes  they  please. 
What  guards  the  purity  of  melting  maids, 
In  courtly  TSaHs,  and  midnight  masquerades, 
Safe  from  the  treach'rous  friend,  the  daring  spark, 
The  glance  by  day,  the  whisper  in  the  dark, 
When  kind  occasion  prompts  their  warm  desires, 
When  music  softens,  and  when  dancing  fires? 
'Tisjmtttair^^  . 

}  Though  honour  is  the  word  with  men  below. 

"Some  nymphs  .there- are,  too  conscious  of  their 

face, 

For  life  predestined  to  the  gnomes'  embrace. 
These  swell  their  prospects  and  exalt  their  pride, 
When  offers  are  disdained,  and  love  denied: 
Then  gay  ideas  crowd  the  vacant  brain, 
While  peers,  and  dukes,  and  all  their  sweeping  train, 
:  And  garters,  stars,  and  coronets  appear, 
i  And  in  soft  sounds,  "  Your  Grace  "  salutes  their  ear. 
'Tis  these  that  early  taint  the  female  soul, 
Instruct  the  eyes  of  ypung  coquettes  to  roll, 
Teach  infant-cheeks  a  bidden  blush  to  know, 
And  Little  hearts  to  flutter  at  a  beau. 

" LOftJj*vhen  the_worl^im^inejvvpmen  stray,  _ 
The  sylphs  through  niystie  mazes"giiide"tlieirjwa^ 
Through  all  the  giddy  circle  they  pursue, 
And  old  impertinence  expel  by  new. 
What  tender  maid  but  must  a  victim  fall 
To  one  man's  treat,  but  for  another's  ball  ? 
When  Florio  speaks  what  virgin  could  withstand, 
If  gentle  Damon  did  not  squeeze  her  hand  V 
With  varying  vanities,  from  ev'ry  part, 
They  shift  the  moving  toyshop  of  their  heart; 
Where  wigs  with  wigs,  with  sword-knots  sword-knots 

strive, 

Beaux  banish  beaux,  and  coaches  coaches  drive. 
Tljis_erring  mortals  levity  may  call; 
Oh  blind  to  truth!  the  sylphs" contrive  it  all. 
"Of  these  am  I,  who  thy  protection  claim, 
A  watchful  sprite,  aud  Ariel  is  my  name. 
Late,  as  I  ranged  the  crystal  wilds  of  air 
In  the  clear  mirror1  of  thy  ruling  star 

1  The  language  of  the  Platonists,  the  writers  of   the  intelligible 
World  of  spirits,  &c.— Pope. 


THE  EAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  67 

I  saw,  alas!  some  dread  event  impend, 

^  Ere  to  the  main  this  morning  jjun  descend. 
But  heaven  reveals  not  what,  or  how,  or  where: 
Warned  by  the  sylph.  O  pinna  Triaif!,  hp.wa.rp>  \ 
This  to  disclose  is  all  thy  guardian  cam 

L  Beware  of  all,  but  most  beware. of  man!" 

He  said;  when  Shock,  who  thought  she  slept  too 

long, 

Leaped  up,  and  waked  his  mistress  with  his  tongue. 
'Twas  then,  Belinda,  if  report  say  true, 
^  Thy  eyes  first  opened  on  a  billet-doux; 
Wounds,  charms,  and  ardours  were  no  sooner  read, 
But  all  the  vision  vanished  from  thy  head. 

And  now,  unveiled,  the  toilet  stands  displayed, 
Each  silver  vase  in  mystic  order  laid. 
First,  robed  in  white,  the  nymph  intent  adores, 
With  head  uncovered,  the  cosmetic  pow'rs. 
"   A  heav'nly  image  in  the  glass  appears, 

To  that  she  bends,  to  that  her  eyes  she  rears; 
Th'  inferior  priestess,  at  her  altar's  side, 
Trembling  begins  the  ^a^red  rites^of  pride. 
Unnumbered  treasures  ope  at  once,  and  here 
The  various  offerings  of  the  world  appear; 
From  each  she  nicely  culls  with  curious  toil, 
And  decks  the  goddess  with  the  glitt'ring  spoil 
This  casket  India's  glowing  gems  unlocks, 
.And  aU  Arabia  breathes  from  yonder  box. 
The  tortoise  here  and  elephant  unite, 
Transformed  to  combs,  the  speckled,  and  the  white. 
Here  files  of  pins  extend  their  shining  rows, 

S'  Puffs,  powders,  patches,  Bibles,  billet-doux. 

^  Now  awful  beauty  puts  dTTalTits  arms; 
The  fair  each  moment  rises  in  her  charms, 
llepairs  her  smiles,  awakens  every  grace, 
And  calls  forth  all  the  wonders  of  her  face; 
j  Sees  by  degrees  a  purer  blush  arise, 
And  keener  lightnings  quicken  in  her  eyes. 
The  busy  sylphs  surround  their  darling  care,1 
These  set  the  head,  and  those  divide  the  hair, 


1  Ancient  traditions  of  the  Kabbis  relate  that  several  of  the  fallen 
angels  became  amorous  of  women,  and  particularize  some ;  among 
the  rest  Asael,  who  lay  with  Naamah,  the  wife  of  Noah,  or  of  Ham; 
and  who  continuing  impenitent,  still  presides  over  the  women/8 
toilets.  £ereshi  Rabbi  in  (*enesi$  vi,  2.— .Pope, 


68  THE  EAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

Some  fold  the  sleeve,  whilst  others  plait  the  gown; 

And  Betty's  praised  for  labours  not  her  own. 


CANTO  H 

NOT  with  more  glories,  in  th'  ethereal  plain, 

The  sun  first  rises  o'er  the  purpled  main, 

Than,  issuing  forth,  the  rival  of  his  beams 

Launched  on  the  bosom  of  the  silver  Thames. 

Fair  nymphs,  and  well-dressed  youths   around  her  . 

shone. 

But  ev'ry  eye  was  fixed  on  her  alone. 
.,  On  her  white  breast  a  sparkling  cross  she  wore, 
Which  Jews  mignt  kiss  and  infidels  adore. 
Her  lively  looks  a  sprightly  mind  disclose, 
Quick  as  her  eyes,  and  as  unfixed  as  those  : 
Favours  to  none,  to  all  she  smiles  extends ; 
Oft  she  rejects,  but  never  once  offends. 
Bright  as  the  sun,  her  eyes  the  gazers  strike, 
And,  like  the  sun,  they  shine  on.  all  alike, 
Yet  graceful  ease,  and  sweetness  void  of  pride, 
Might  hide  her  faults,  if  beUes  had  faults  to  hide  : 
If  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 
Look  on  her  face,  and  you'll  forget  'em  all. 

This  nymph  to  the  destruction  of  mankind, 
Nourished  two  locks,  which  graceful  hung  behind. 
In  equal  curls,  and  well  conspired  to  deck 
With  shining  ringlets  the  smooth  iv'ry  neck. 
Love  in  these  labyrinths  his  slaves  detains, 
And  mighty  hearts  are  held  in  slender  chains. 
With  hairy  springes  we  the  birds  betray, 
Slight  lines  of  hair  surprise  the  finny  pr§y, 
Fair  tresses  man's  imperial  race  ensnare, 
^jid  beauty  draws  us  with  a  single  hair. 

T?k'  advent'rous  baron1  the  bright  locks  admired; 
He  saw,  lie  wished,  and  to  the  prize  aspired; 
Resolved  to  win,  he  meditates  the  way, 
By  force  to  ravish,  or  by  fraud  betrayj 

CFoFwhen  success  a  lover's  toiTattends, 
Few  ask,  if  fraud  or  force  attained  his  ends. 

i  £ora  Petrq 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK  69 

For  this,  ere  Phoebus  rose,  he  had  implored 
Propitious  fieav'n,  and  ev*ry"pow'r  adored, 
But  chiefly  Love — to  love  an  altar  built, 
Of  twelve  vast  French  romances,  neatly  gilt. 
There  lay  three  garters,  half  a  pair  of  gloves; 
And  all  the  trophies  of  his  former  loves; 
With  tender  billetrdoux  he,  lights  the. .  pyre, 
And  breathes  three  am'rous  sighs  to  raise  the  fire. 
Then  prostrate  falls,  and  begs  with  ardent  eyes 
\     Soon  to  obtain,  and  long  possess  the  prize  : 
^  The  pow'rs  gave  ear,1  and  granted  half  his  pray'r, 
The  rest,  the  winds  dispersed  in  empty  air. 

But  now  secure  the  painted  vessel  glides, 
The  sunbeams  trembling  on  the  floating  tides : 
While  melting  music  steals  upon  the  sky. 
And  softened  sounds  along  the  waters  die; 
Smooth  flow  the  waves,  the  zephyrs  gently  play, 
Belinda  smiled,  and  all  the  world  was  gay. 
Ah1  but  the  sylph — with  careful  thoughts  opprest, 
Th'  impending  woe  sat  heavy  on  his  breast. 
He  summons  strait  his  denizens  of  air; 
The  lucid  squadrons  round  the  sails  repair  : 
Soft  o'er  the  shrouds  aerial  whispers  breathe, 
That  seemed  but  zephyrs  to  the  train  beneath. 
Some  to  the  sun  their  insect  wings  unfold, 
Waft  on  the  breeze,  or  sink  in  clouds  of  gold; 
Transparent  forms,  too  fine  for  mortal  sight, 
Their  fluid  bodies  half  dissolved  in  light. 
Loose  to  the  wind  their  airy  garments  flew, 
Thin  glitt'ring  textures  of  the  filmy  dew, 
Dipped  in  the  richest  tincture  of  the  skies, 
Where  light  disports  in  ever-mingling  dyes, 
While  ev'ry  beam  new  transient  colours  flings, 
Colours  that  change  whene'er  they  wave  their  wings. 
Amid  the  circle,  on  the  gilded  mast, 
Superior  by  the  head,  was  Ariel  placed; 
His  purple  pinions  opening  to  the  sun, 
He  raised  his  azure  wand,  and  thus  begun : 

"  Ye  sylphs  and  sylphids,  to  your  chief  give  ear ! 
Fays,  fairies,  genii,  elves,  and  demons,  hear ! 
Ye  know  the  spheres  and  various  tasks  assigned 
By  laws  eternal  to  th'  aerial  kind. 
Some  in  the  fields  of  purest  ether  play, 

i  Virgil,  MD..  XI.  798.— Pope, 


70  THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

And  bask  and  whiten  in  the  blaze  of  day. 
Some  guide  the  course  of  wand'ring  orbs  on  high, 
Or'folTthe  planets  through  the  boundless  "sky.""'" 
Some  less  refined,  beneath  the  moon's  pale  light 
Pursue  the  stars  that  shoot  athwart  the  night, 
Or  such  the  mists  in  grosser  air  below, 
Or  dip  their  pinions  in  the  painted  bow, 
Or  brew  fierce  tempests  on  the  wintry  main, 
Or  o'er  the  glebe  distil  the  kindly  rain, 
Others  on  earth  o'er  human  race  preside, 
"Watch  all  their  ways,  and  all  their  actions  guide: 
Of  these  the  chief  the  care  of  notions  own, 
-^  And  guard  with  arms  divine  the  British  throne- 

"  Our  humbler  province  is  to  tend  the  fair, 
Not  a  less  pleasing,  though  less  glorious  care; 
To  save  the  powder  from  too  rude  a  gale, 
Nor  let  thj  imprisoned  essences  exhale; 
To  draw  fresh  colours  from  the  vernal  flow'rs; 
To  steal  from  rainbows  ere  they  drop  in  show'rs 
A  brighter  wash;  to  curl  their  waving  hairs, 
Assist  their  blushes,  and  inspire  their  airs; 
Nay  oft,  in  dreams,  invention  we  bestow, 
To  change  a  flounce  or  add  a  furbelow. 

"This  day,  black  omens  threat  the  brightest  fair 
That  e'er  deserved  a  watchful  spirit's  care; 
Some  dire  disaster,  or  by  force,  or  slight; 
But  what,  or  where,  the  fates  have  wrapt  in  night. 
"Whether  the  nymph  shall  break  Diana's  law. 
Or  some  frail  china  jar  receive  a  flaw; 
Or  stain  her  honour  or  her  new  brocade, 
Forget  her  pray'rs,  or  miss  a  masquerade; 
Or  lose  her  heart,  or  necklace,  at  a  ball; 
Or  whether  HeaVnjbas  doomed  that  shock  must  ML 
Haste,  then7ye  spirits!  to  your  charge  repair: 
The  flutt'ring  fan  be  Zephyretta's  care; 
The  drops1  to  thee,  Brillante,  we  consign; 
And,  Momentilla,  let  the  watch  be  thine; 
Do  thou,  Crispissa,  tend  her  fav'rite  lock; 
Ariel  himself  shall  be  the  guard  of  Shock. 
,     *  "To  fifty  chosen  sylphs,  of  special  note, 
'  We  trust  th'  important  charge,  the  petticoat: 
Oft  have  we  known  that  seven-fold  fence  to  fail, 


1  Earrings  of  brilliants. 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  71 

Though  stiff  with  hoops,  and   armed  with  ribs  of      ~ 

whale;  s 

From  a  strong  line  about  the  silver  bound, 
And  guard  the  wide  circumference  around. 

"  Whatever  _spirit,  careless  of  his  charge, 
His  post  neglects,  or  leaves  the  fair  at  large, 
Shall  feel  sharp  vengeance  soon  o'ertake  his  sins, 
Be  stopped  in  vials,  or  transfixed  with  pins; 
Or  plunged  in  lakes  of  bitter  washes  lie, 
Or  wedged,  whole  ages,  in  a  bodkin's  eye: 
Gums  and  pomatums  shall  his  flight  restrain, 
While  clogged  he  beats  his  silken  wings  in  vain; 
Or  alum  styptics  with  contracting  pow'r 
Shrink  his  thin  essence  like  a  riveled  flow'r: 
Or,  as  Ixion  fixed,  the  wretch  shall  feel 
The  giddy  motion  of  the  whirling  mill,1 
In  fumes  of  burning  chocolate  shall  glow, 
And  tremble  at  the  sea  that  froths  below  1" 

He  spoke;  the  spirits  from  the  sails  descend; 
Some,  oHTin  orb,  around  the  nymph  extend; 
Some  thrid  the  mazy  ringlets  of  her  hair; 
Some  hang  upon  the  pendants  of  her  ear: 
With  beating  hearts  the  dire  event  they  wait, 
Anxious,  and  trembling  for  the  birth  of  fate.  .— ,     •-»• 


CANTO   HI. 

CLOSE  by  those  meads,  for  ever  crowned  with  flowers, 
Where  Thames  with  pride  surveys  his  rising  towers, 
There  stands  a  structure  of  majestic  frame, 
Which  from   the  neighbouring  Hampton  takes  its 

name. 

Here  Britain's  statesmen  oft  the  fall  foredoom 
Of  foreign  tyrants  and  of  nymphs  at  home; 
Hear  thou,  great  Anna!  whom  three  realms  obey> 
Dost  sometimes  counsel  take — and  sometimes  tea. 

Hither  the  heroes  and  the  nymphs  resort; 
To  taste  awhile  the  pleasures  of  a  court] 
In  various  talk  th'  instructive  hours  they  past, 
Who  gave  the  ball,  or  paid  the  visit  last; 

i  Tho  chocolate-mill. 


72  THE  EAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

One  speaks  the  glory  of  the  British  queen, 
And  one  describes  a  charming  Indian  screen, 
A  third  interprets  motions,  looks,  and  eyes; 

|       At  ev'ry  word  a  reputation  dies. 

i       Snuff,  or  the  fan,  supply  each  pause  of  chat, 
With  singing,  laughing,  ogling,  and  all  that. 

Meanwhile,  declining  from  the  noon  of  day, 
The  sun  obliquely  shoots  his  burning  ray; 
The  hungry  judges  soon  the  sentence  sign, 
And  wretches  hang  that  jury-men  may  dine;1 
The  merchant  from  thj  Exchange  returns  in  peace, 
And  the  long  labours  of  the  toilet  cease, 
jfelinda  now,  whom  thirst  of  fame  invites, 
Burns  to  encounter  two  advent'rous  knights, 

;  Ombre2  singly  to  decide  their  doom; 
And  swells  her  breast  with  conquests  yet  to  come. 
Straight  the  three  bands  prepare  in  arms  to  join, 
Each  band  the  number  of  the  sacred  nine. 
Soon  as  she  spreads  her  hand, 


Descend,  and  sit  on  each  important  card: 
First  Aerial  perched  upon  a  matadore,3 
Then  each,  according  to  the  rank  they  bore; 
For  sylphs,  yet  mindful  of  their  ancient  race, 
Are,  as  when  women,  wondrous  fond  of  place. 

Behold,  four  kings  in  majesty  revered, 
With  hoary  whiskers  and  a  forky  beard; 
And  four  fair  queens  whose  hands  sustain  a  flowV, 
The  expressive  emblem  of  their  softer  pow'r; 
Four  knaves  in  garbs  succinct,  a  trusty  band, 
Caps  on  their  heads  and  halberts  in  their  hand; 
And  parti-coloured  troops,  a  shining  train, 
Draw  forth  to  combat  on  the  velvet  plain. 

The  skilful  nymph  reviews  her  force  with  care; 
Let  spades  be  trumps !  she  said,  and  trumps  they  were, 

Now  move  to  war  her  sable  matadores,4 
In  show  like  leaders  of  the  swarthy  Moors. 
Spadillio5  first,  unconquerable  lord ! 

1  From  Congreve. —  War  ton. 

2  A  fashionable  game  of  cards  invented  in  Spain. 

3  The  matadores,  so  named  from  the  slayers  in  the  bull-fight,  were 
the  three  best  cards  at  ombre. 

*  The  whole  idea  of  this  description  of  a  game  at  ombre,  is  taken 
from  Vida's  description  of  a  game  at  chess,  in  his  poem  entitled 
•*  Scacchia  IuUdus."--Warburton. 

&  In  this  Spanish  game,  L'ombre,  or  the  man  who  stands  the  game, 
fixes  the  trump. 

Spadillo  is  the  ace  of  spades,  the  Spanish  name  of  which  is  Espa- 


THE  RAPE  OE  THE  LOCK.  73 

Led  off  two  captive  trumps,  and  swept  the  board. 

As  many  more  Manillio  forced  to  yield, 

And  marched  a  victor  from  the  verdant  field. 

Him  Basto  followed,  but  his  fate  more  hard 

Gained  but  one  trump  and  one  plebeian  card. 

With  his  broad  sabre  next,  a  chief  in  years, 

The  hoary  majesty  of  spades  appears, 

Puts  forth  one  manly  leg,  to  sight  revealed, 

The  rest  his  many-coloured  robe  concealed. 

The  rebel  knave,  who  dares  his  prince  engage, 

Proves  the  just  victim  of  his  royal  rage. 

Even  mighty  Pam,  that  kings  and  queens  o'erthrew,1 

AnTr  mowed  down  armies  in  the  fights  of  Lai, 

Sad  chance  of  war !  now  destitute  of  aid, 

Falls  undistinguished  by  the  victor  spade ! 

Thus  far  both  armies  to  Belinda  yield;. 
Now  to  the  baron  fate  inclines  the  field. 
His  warlike  amazon  her  host  invades, 
Th'  imperial  consort  of  the  crown  of  spades. 
The  club's  black  tyrant  first  her  victim  died, 
Spite  of  his  haughty  mien,  and  barb'rous  pride: 
What  boots  the  regal  circle  on  his  head, 
His  giant  limbs,  in  state  unwieldly  spread; 
That  long  behind  he  trails  his  pompous  robe, 
And,  of  all  monarchs,  only  grasps  the  globe? 

The  baron  now  his  diamonds  pours  apace; 
The  embroidered  king  who  shows  but  half  his  face, 
And  his  refulgent  queen,  with  pow'rs  combined 
Of  broken  troops  an  easy  conquest  find. 
/  Clubs,  diamonds,  hearts,  in  wild  disorder  seen, 
L.  With^throngs  promiscuous  strew  the  level  green. 
Thus  when  dispersed  a  routed  army  runs, 
Of  Asia's  troops,  and  Afric's  sable  sons, 
With  like  confusion  different  nations  fly, 
Of  various  habit,  and  of  various  dye, 
The  pierced  battalions  disunited  fall, 
In  heaps  on  heaps;  one  fate  o'erwhelms  them  all. 

The  knave  of  diamonds  tries  his  wily  arts, 
And  wins  (O  shameful  chance !)  the  queen  of  hearts.    V. 
At  this,  the  blood  the  virgin's  cheek  forsook, 

dilla.  Manillio  is  the  deuce  of  trumps  when  they  are  black ;  the 
seven  when  they  are  red.  Basto  is  the  Spanish  name  for  the  ace  of 
clubs. 

*  Pam  is  the  name  for  foe  knave  of  clubs  in  the  game  of  Loo,  as 
we  now  write  it. 


1i  TEE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

A  livid  paleness  spreads  o'er  all  her  look; 
She  sees,  and  trembles  at  th'  approaching  ill, 
Just  in  the  jaws  of  ruin,  and  codille.1 
And  now  (as  oft  in  some  distempered  state) 
On  one  nice  trick  depends  the  gen'ral  fate. 
An  ace  of  hearts  steps  forth;  the  king  unseen 
Lurked  in  her  hand,  and  mourned  his  captive  queen, 
He  springs  to  vengeance  with  an  eager  pace, 
And  falls  like  thunder  on  the  prostrate  ace. 
The  nymph  exulting  fills  with  shouts  the  sky; 
"  The  walls,  the  woods,  and  long  canals  reply. 
O  thoughtless  mortals !  ever  blind  to  fate, 
Too  soon  dejected,  and  too  soon  elate. 
Sudden,  these  honours  shall  be  snatched  away, 
_And  cursed  for  ever  this  victorious  day. 
Tor  lo !  the  board  with  cups  and  spoons  is  crowned, 
The  berries  crackle,  and  the  mill  turns  round:2 
On  shining  altars  of  Japan  they  raise 
The  silver  lamp;  the  fiery  spirits  blaze: 
From  silver  spouts  the  grateful  liquors /glide, 
While  China's  earth  receives  the  smoking  tide: 
At  once  they  gratify  their  scent  and  taste, 
And  frequent  cups  prolong  the  rich  repast. 
Straight  hover  round  the  fair  her  airy  band; 
Some,  as  she  sipped,  the  fuming  liquor  fanned, 
Some  o'er  her  lap  their  careful  plumes  displayed, 
Trembling,  and  conscious  of  the  rich  brocade. 
Coffee  (which  makes  the  politicians  wise, 
And  see  through  all  things  with  his  half -shut  eyes)  ^ 
Sent  up  in  vapours  to  the  baron's  brain 
New~stratagems,  the  radiant  lock  to  gain. 
Ah  cease,  rash  youth!  desist  ere  'tis  too  late, 
Fear  the  just  Gods,  and  think  of  Scylla's  fate! 
Changed  to  a  bird,  and  sent  to  flit  in  air, 
She  dearly  pays  for  Nisus'  injured  hair  P 

»  If  either  of  the  two  playing  against  "  Ombre  "  made  more  tricks 
than  he  did,  the  winner  took  the  pool,  and  the  "Ombre"  had  to  re- 
place it  for  the  next  game. 

2  It  was  the  fashion  to  grind  as  well  as  make  the  coffee  in  the 
room. 

3  Nisus,  King  of  Megara,  had  on  his  head  a  certain  purple  lock  of 
hair;  and  it  was  decreed  by  fate  that  he  should  never  be  conquered 
as  long  as  that  lock  remained  on  his  head.    Minos,  King  of  Crete, 
made  war  upon  Megara,  and  Scylla,  the  king's  daughter,  beholding 
the  enemy  of  her  father  from  a  high  tower,  fell  in  love  with  him. 
She  resolved  to  give  up  the  city  to  him  :  stole  in  the  night  to  her 
father's  sleeping  room  and  cut  off  the  fatal  lock     She  bore  it  out  of 
the  city  to  Minos,  and  told  him  that  Megara  was  now  his  own,    But 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  75 

But  when  to  mischief  mortals  bend  their  will, 
How  soon  they  find  fit  instruments  of  ill ! 
Just  then,  Clarissa  drew  with  tempting  grace 
A  two-edged  weapon  from  her  shining  case; 
So  ladies  in  romance  assist  their  knight, 
Present  the  spear,  and  arm  him  for  the  light, 
He  takes  the  gift  with  rev'rence,  and  extends 
The  little  engine  on  his  fingers'  ends; 
This  just  behind . 


As  o'er  the  fragrant  steams  she  bends  her  head. 
Swift  to  the  lock  a  thousand  sprites  repair, 
A  thousand  wings,  by  turns,  blow  back  the  hair; 
And  thrice  they  twitched  the  diamond  in  her  ear; 
Thrice  she  looked  back,  and  thrice  the  foe  drew  near. 
Just  in  that  instant  anxious  Ariel  sought 
The  close  recesses  of  the  virgin's  thought; 
As  on  the  nosegay  in  her  breast  reclined, 
He  watched  th'  ideas  rising  in  her  mind, 
/  -Sudden  he  viewed,  in  spite  of  all  her  art, 
An  earthly  lover  lurking  at  her  heart. 
Amazed,  confused,  he  found  his  pow'r  expired, 


Kesigned  to  fate,  and  with  a  sigh  retired. 

The  peer  now  spreads  the  glittering  forf ex  wide, 
TJ  inclose  the  lock;  now  joins  it,  to  divide. 
Ev'n  then,  before  the  fatal  engine  closed, 
A  wretched  sylph  too  fondly  interposed; 
Fate  urged  the  shears  an/l  p.yH-.  frfofi  sylph  In  twain , 
^^{But  airy  SUbsTance  soon  unites  again1) 
The  meeting  points  .the  sacred  hair  dissever 
From  the  fair  head,  forever,  and  forever! 

Then  flashed  the  living  lightning  from  her  eyes, 
And  screams  of  horror,  rend  th'  affrighted  skies.. 
Not  louder  shrieks  to  pitying  ±ieav'n  are  cast, 

husbands,  or  when  laJpdogs  breath  their  last; 
Or  when  rich  china  vessels  f all'ii  from  high, 
In  glittering  dust  and  painted  fragments  lie ! 

"Let  wreaths  of  triumph  now  my  temples  twine, 
(The  victor  cried)  the  glorious  prize  is  mine 
While  fish  in  streams,  or  birds  delight  in  air, 

the  just  king  shrank  from  her  in  abhorrence;  gave  equitable  terms 
to  the  conquered  city,  and  sailed  from  the  island.  Scylla  was  turned 
into  a  bird,  constantly  pursued  by  a  sea-eagle,  into  which  her  father 
had  been  metamorphosed. — Vide.  Ovid.  Metam.  8. 

i  See  Miiton.  lib.  vi.  of  Satan  cut  asunder  by  the  angel  Michael.— 
Pope. 

The  parodies  are  the  most  exquisite  parts  of  this  poem,—  Warton, 


76  THE  EAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

Or  in  a  coach  and  six  the  British  fair, 
As  long  as  Atalantis  shall  be  read,1 
Or  the  small  pillow  grace  a  lady's  "bed, 
While  visits  shall  be  paid  on  solemn  days,2 
When  numerous  wax  lights  in  bright  order  blaze, 
While  nymphs  take  treats,  or  assignations  give, 
So  long  my  honour,  name,  and  praise  shall  live !" 
What  time  would  spare,  from  steel  receives  its  date, 
And  monuments,  like  men,  submit  to  fate ! 
Steel  could  the  labour  of  the  gods  destroy, 
And  strike  to  dust  th'  imperial  tow'rs  of  Troy; 
Steel  could  the  works  of  mortal  pride  confound, 
And  hew  triumphal  arches  to  the  ground. 
What  wonder  then,  fair  nymph!  thy  hairs  should 

fee? 
The  conquering  force  of  unresisted  steel ! 


CANTO  IV. 

BUT  anxious  cares  the  pensive  nymph  oppressed,4 
And  secret  passions  laboured  in  her  breast. 
Not  youthful  kinds'"  in  battle  seized  alive, 
Not  scornful  virgins  who  their  charms  survive, 
Not  ardent  lovers  robbed  of  all  their  bliss, 
Not  ancient  ladies  when  refused  a  kiss, 
Not  tyrants  fierce  that  unrepenting  die, 
Not  Cynthia  when  her  manteau's  pinned  awry, 
E'er  felt  such  rage,  resentment  and  despair, 
As  thou,  sad  virgin!  for  thy  ravished  hair. 

For,  that  sad  moment,  when  the  sylphs  withdrew, 
And  Ariel  weeping  from  J3c\i6(ida  flew, 


*  A  famous  book  written  abo  t  thi,  time  by  a  woman ;  full  of  court 
and  party  scandal ;  and  in  a  oos   effemir    *y  of  style  and  sentiment, 
which  well  suited  the  debauched  taste  o    Jie  better  vulgar.—  War- 
burton. 

The  writer  was  Mrs.  de  la  Riviere  Manley,  supposed  to  have  been 
the  Sappho  of  the  "Tatler,"and  daughter  of  Sir  Roger  Manley. 
She  was  a  woman  of  very  bad  character. 

2  Visits  were  then  sometimes  received  in  ladies'  bedrooms,  when 
the  bed  was  decorated  with  a  handsome  counterpane  and  a  small 
lace-trimmed  pillow. 

3  "  Ille  quoque  aversus  mons  est,  &c. 

Quid  faciant  crines,  cum  ferro  talia  cedant?"—  Catull,  De  Conk 
Berenices.  — Pope. 

*  At  regina  gravi,  &c,— Virg.  Mn,,  iv.  1,— 


TEE  EAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  77 

Umbriel,  a  dusky,  melancholy  sprite, 
As  ever  sullied  the  fair  face  of  light, 
Down  to  the  central  earth  his  proper  scene, 
Repaired  to  search  the  gloomy  cave  of  Spleen- 
Swift  011  his  sooty  pinions  Hits  the  gnome, 
AM  in  a  vapour  reached  the  dtefii'aTdome! 
No  cheerful  breeze  this  sullen  region  knows, 
The  dreaded  east  is  all  the  wind  that  blows. 
Here  in  a  grotto,  sheltered  close  from  air, 
And  screened  in  shades  from  clay's  detested  glare, 
She_sigh^ Jorever  _on  her  jgensiye  bed, 
Pain  at  her  side  and  Megrim  at  her"  head. 

Two  handmaids  wait  the  throne :  alike  in  place, 
But  dhTring  far  in  figure  and  in  face. 
Here  stood  Ill-nature  like  an  ancient  maid, 
Her  wrinkled"  Torm  in  black  and  white  arrayed ; 
With  store  of  pray 'rs  for  mornings,  nights,  and  noons, 
Her  hand  is  filled;  her  bosom  with  lampoons. 

There  jjLffectaj^n.  with  a  sickly  mien, 
Shows  in  her  cheek  the  roses  of  eighteen, 
Practised  to  lisp  and  hang  the  head  aside, 
Faints  into  airs,  and  languishes  with  pride, 
On  the  rich  quilt  sinks  with  becoming  woe, 
Wrapped  in  a  gown,  for  sickness,  and  for  show. 
The  fair  ones  feel  such  maladies  as  these, 
When  each  new  night-dress  gives  a  new  disease. 

A  constant  vapour  o'er  the  palace  flies; 
Strange  phantoms  rising  as. the  mists  arise: 
Dreadful,  as  hermits'  dreams  in  haunted  shades, 
Or  bright,  as  visions  of  expiring  maids. 
Now  glaring  fiends,  and  snakes  on  rolling  spires, 
Pale  spectres,  gaping  tombs,  and  purple  fires; 
Now  lakes  of  liquid  gold,  Elysian  scenes, 
And  crystal  domes,  and  angels  in  machines. 

Unnumbered  throngs  on  ev'ry  side  are  seen, 
Of  bodies  changed  to  various  forms  by  Spleen. 
Here  living  tea-pots  stand,  one  arm  held  out, 
One1  bent;  the  handle  this,  and  that  the  spout: 
A  pipkin  there,  like  Homer's  tripod  walks;1 

i  See  Horn.  "  Iliad,"  xviii.  of  Vulcan's  walking  tripods.— Pope. 

This  is  the  passage  in  Pope's  translations  :— 

"  That  day  no  common  task  his  labour  claimed, 
Full  twenty  tripods  for  his  hall  he  framed, 
That  placed  on  living  wheels  of  massy  geld 
(Wond'rous  to  tell),  instinct  with  spirit  rolled 
From  place  to  place,  around  the  blest  adoea 
Self-moved,  obedient  to  the  beck  of  gods," 


78  THE  EAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

Here  sighs  a  jar,  and  there  a  goose-pie  talks;1 
Men  prove  with  child,  as  pow'rful  fancy  works, 
And  maids  turned  bottles,  called  aloud  for  corks.  ^ 

Safe  past  the  gnome  through  this  fantastic  band, 
A  branch  of  healing  spleenwort  in  his  hand. 
Then  thus  addressed  the  pow'r:    "Hail,  wayward 

queen  ! 

Who  rule  thlTsex  to  fifty  from  fifteen: 
Parent  of  vapours  and  of  female  wit, 
Who  give  th'  hysteric,  or  poetic  fit, 
On  various  tempers  act  by  various  ways, 
Make  some  take  physic,  others  scribble  plays; 
Who  cause  the  proud  their  visits  to  delay, 
And  send  the  godly  in  a  pet  to  pray. 
A  nymph  there  is,  that  afl  thy  pow'r  disdains, 
And  thousands  more  in  equal  mirth  maintains. 
But  oh!  if  e'er  thy  gnome  could  spoil  a  grace, 
Or  raise  a  pimple  on  a  beauteous  face, 
Like  citron-waters  matrons'  cheeks  inflame, 
Or  change  complexions  at  a  losing  game; 
If  e'er  with  airy  horns  I  planted  heads, 
Or  rumpled  petticoats,  or  tumbled  beds, 
Or  caused  suspicion  when  no  soul  was  rude, 
Or  discomposed  the  head-dress  of  a  prude, 
Or  e'er  to  costive  lap-dog  gave  disease, 
Which  not  the  tears  of  brightest  eyes  could  ease; 
Hear  me,  and  touch  Belinda  with  chagrin, 
That  single  act  gives  half  the  world  the  spleen." 

The  goddess  with  a  discontented  air 
Seems  to  reject  him,  though  she  grants  his  pray'r. 
A  wondrous  bag  with  both  her  hands  she  binds, 
Like  that  where  once  Ulysses  held  the  winds; 
There  she  collects  thejorce^oj  female  lungs. 
Sighs,  soT5s7an3T  passions,  and  the  war  of  tongues, 
A  vial  next  she  fills  with  fainting  fears, 
Soft  sorrows,  melting  griefs,  and  flowing  tears. 
The  gnome  rejoicing  bears  her  gifts  away, 
Spreads  his  black  wings,  and  slowly  mounts  to  day. 

Sunk  in  Thalestris'  arms  the  nymph  he  found, 
Her  eyes  dejected  and  her  hair  unbound. 
Full  o'er  their  heads  the  swelling  bag  he  rent, 
And  all  the  furies,  issued  at  the  j 


1  Alludes  to  a  real  fact,  a  lady  of  distinction  imagined  herself  in 
this  condition.—  Pope. 


THfl  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  79 

Belinda  burns  with  more  than  mortal  ire, 

And  fierce  Thalestris  fans  the  rising  flT6." 

"  Oh  wretched  maid !"  she  spread  her  hands,  and  cried, 

(While  Hampton's  echoes,  "  Wretched  maid !"  replied) 

"Was  it  for  this  you  took  such  constant  care 

The  bodkin,  comb,  and  essence  to  prepare  ? 

For  this  your  locks  in  paper  durance  bound, 

For  this  with  torturing  irons  wreathed  around  ? 

For  this  with  fillets  strained  your  tender  head, 

And  barely  bore  the  double  loads  of  lead  ?l 

Gods !  shall  the  ravisher  display  your  hair, 

While  the  fops  envy,  and  the  ladies  stare ! 

Honour  forbid !  at  whose  unrivalled  shrine 

Ease,  pleasure,  virtue,  all  our  sex  resign. 

Methinks  already  I  your  tears  survey, 

Already  hear  the  horrid  things  they  say, 

Already  see  you  a  degraded  toast, 

And  all  your  honour  in  a  whisper  lost ! 

How  shall  I,  then,  your  helpless  fame  defend? 

'Twill  then  be  infamy  to  seem  your  friend ! 

And  shall  this  prize,  th'  inestimable  prize, 

Exposed  through  crystal  to  the  gazing  eyes, 

And  heightened  by  the  diamond's  circling  rays, 

On  that  rapacious  hand  for  ever  blaze  ? 

Sooner  shall  grass  in  Hyde  Park  Circus  grow, 

And  wits  take  lodgings  in  the  sound  of  Bow ; 

Sooner  let  earth,  air,  sea,  to  chaos  fall, 

Men,  monkeys,  lap-dogs,  parrots,  perish  all !" 

She  said;  then  raging  to  Sir  Plume  repairs,2 
And  bids  her  beau  demand  the  precious  hairs: 
(Sir Pltrm^nf^mbeT r'Muff-box jiislly  Tain, 
And  the  nice  conduct  of  a  clouded  cane) 
With  earnest  eyes,  and  round  unthinking  face, 
He  first  the  snuff-box  opened,  then  the  case, 
And  thus  broke  out — "  My  lord,  why,  what  the  devil . 

Zounds !  d the  lock !  'fore  Gad,  you  must   be 

civil! 
Plague  on't !  'tis  past  a  jest — nay,  prithee,  pox ! 

1  Curl-papers  fastened  with  lead. 

2  Sir  George  Brown.    He  was  the  only  one  of  the  persons  introduced 
into  the  poem  who  was  offended  by  it.    He  was  angry  that  the   poet 
made  him  talk  nothing  but  nonsense.— From  a  note  by  Warburton. 

As  engraving  of  Sir  Plume,  with  seven  other  figures  by  Hogarth, 
was  executed  on  the  lid  of  a  gold  snuff-box  and  presented  to  one  of 
the  parties  concerned.  The  original  impression  of  a  print  of  it  was, 
sold  for  thirty-three  pounds,—  Wartan. 


80  THE  EAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

Give  her  the  hair" — he  spoke,  and  rapped  his  box. 

"  ^  grieves'  me" much  ""(replied  the  peer  again) 
"Who  speaks  so  well  should  never  speak  in  vain, 
But  by  this  lock,  his  sacred  look  I  swear,1 
(Which  never  more  shall  join  its  parted  hair; 
Which  never  more  its  honours  shall  renew, 
Clipped  from  the  lovely  head  where  late  it  grew) 
That  while  my  nostrils  draw  the  vital  air, 
This  hand,  which  ^on  it  shall  for  ever  wear." 
He  spoke,  and  speaking,  in  proud  triumph  spread 
The  long-contented  honours  of  her  head. 

But  Umbriel,  hateful  gnome !  forbears  not  so; 
He  breaks  the  vial  whence  the  sorrows  flow. 
Then  see  the  nymph  in  beauteous  grief  appears, 
Her  eyes  half-languishing,  half-drowned  in  tears; 
On  her  heaved  bosom  hung  her  drooping  head, 
Which,  with  a  sigh,  she  raised;  and  thus  she  said: 

"For  ever  cursed  be  this  detested  day, 
Which  snatched  my  best,  my  favourite  curl  away ! 
Happy !  ah,  ten  times  happy  had  I  been, 
If  Hampton  Court  these  eyes  had  never  seen! 
Yet  am  not  I  the  first  mistaken  maid, 
By~Iove oF  courts  to  numerous  ills  betrayed. 
Oh7"hadT  father  uiT£dmire"d ~  reisalnett 
In  some  lone  isle,  or  distant  northern  land; 
Where  the  gilt  chariot  never  marks  the  way, 
Where  none  learn  ombre,  none  e'er  taste  Bohea! 
There  kept  my  charms  concealed  from  mortal  eye, 
Like  roses,  that  in  deserts  bloom  and  die. 
What  moved  my  mind  with  youthful  lords  to  roam? 
Oh,  had  I  stayed,  and  said  my  pray'rs  at  home  I 
"Twas  this,  the  morning  omens  seemed  to  tell, 
Thrice  from  my  trembling  hand  the  patch-box2  fell, 
The  tott'ring  china  shook  without  a  wind, 
Nay,  Poll  sat  mute,  and  Shock  was  most  unkind ! 
A  sylph,  too,  warned  me  of  the  threats  of  fate, 
In  mystic  visions,  now  believed  too  late ! 
See  the  poor  remnants  of  these  slighted  hairs ! 
My  hands  shall  rend  what  ev'n  thy  rapine  spares: 
These  in  two  sable  ringlets  taught  to  break, 

1  In  allusion  to  Achille's  oath  in  Homer.     "  II."    i.— Pope. 

2  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  remind  the  reader  that  patches  were 
part  of  a  lady's  ornaments  at  that  time,  and  were  political  symbols  ;  the 
female  Tories  wearing  them,  on  one  side  of  the  face,  the  Whigs  the 
Other. 


THE  EAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  81 

'  * 

Once  gave  new  beauties  to  the  snowy  neck; 
The  sister-lock  now  sits  uncouth,  alone, 
And  in  its  fellow's  fate  foresees  its  own; 
Uncurled  it  hangs,  the  fatal  shears  demands, 
And  tempts,  once  more,  the  sacrilegious  hands. 
Oh,  hadst  thou,  cruel!  been  content  to-seiae 
Hairs  less  in  sight,  or  any  hairs  but  these!" 


CANTO  V. 

SHE  said  :  the  pitying  audience  melt  in  tears, 
But  fate  and  Jove  had  stopped  the  baron's  ears. 
In  vain  Thalestris  with  reproach  assails, 
For  who  can  move  wjien  fair  Belinda  fails  ? 
Not  half  so  fixed  the  Trojan1  could  remain, 
While  Anna  begged  and  Dido  raged  in  vain. 
Then  grave  Clarissa  graceful  waved  her  fan; 
Silence  ensued,  and  thus  the  nymph  began: 

"  Say,  why  are  beauties  praised  and  honoured  most, 
The  wise  man's  passion,  and  the  vain  man's  toast  ? 
Why  decked  with  all  that  land  and  sea  afford,2 
Why  angels  called,  and  angel-like  adored  ? 
Why  round  our  coaches    crowd  the   white-gloved 

beaux  ? 

Why  bows  the  side-box  from  its  inmost  rows?3 
How  vain  are  all  these  glories,  ah1  our  pains, 
Unless  good  sense  preserves  what  beauty  gains: 
That  men  may  say,  when  we  the  front-box  grace: 
'Behold  the  first  in  virtue  as  in  face !' 
lOh !  if  to  dance  all  night,  and  dress  ah1  day, 
I  Charmed  the  small-pox,  or  chased  old  age  away;       \ 
JWho  would  not  scorn  what  housewifes'  cares  pro- 
/  duce, 

i  Or  who  would  learn  one  earthly  thing  of  use? 
To  patch,  nay  ogle,  might  become  a  saint, 
Nor  could  it  sure  be  such  a  sin  to  paint. 
But  since,  alas !  frail  beauty  must  decay,     .. 
Curled  or  uncurled,  since  locks  will  turn  to  grey;      . 

1  Anna,  the  sister  of  Dido,  besought  ^neas  not  to  abandon  the 
queen. 

2  A  parody  of  the  speech  of  Sarpedon  to  Glaucns  in  Homer.— Pope. 

3  The  gentlemen  sat  in  the  side  boxes  at  that  time.    The  ladled  oc- 
cupied the  front  boxes.— See  "  Guardian/'  No.  29.  , 


82  TEE  EAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

r Since  painted,  or  not  painted,  all  shall  fade, 
AndTsne  who  scorns  a  man,  must  die  a  maid; 
AVhat  then  remains  but  well  our  pow'r  to  use, 
And  keep  good-humour still,  whate'er  we  lose? 
And  trust  me,  dear!  good-humour  can  prevail, 
When  airs,  and  flights,  and  screams,  and  scolding 

-   fail 

Beauties  in  vain  their  pretty  eyes  may  roll; 
Charms  strike  the  sight,  but  merit  wins  the  soul." 
'^So^poke  the  dame,  but  no  applause  ensued;1 
Belinda  frowned,  Thalestris  called  her  prude. 
"  To  arms,  to  arms !"  the  fierce  virago  cries, 
And  swift  as  lightning  to  the  combat  flies. 
All  side  in  parties,  and  begin  th'  attack; 
Fans  clap,  silks  rustle,  and  tough  whalebones  crack ; 
Heroes'  and  heroines'  shouts  confusedly  rise, 
And  bass,  and  treble  voices  strike  the  skies. 
No  common  weapons  in  their  hands  are  found, 
Like  gods  they  fight,  nor  dread  a  mortal  wound. 
So  when  bold  Homer  makes  the  gods  engage, 
And  heavenly  breasts  with  human  passions  rage; 
'Gainst  Pallas,  Mars;  Latona,  Hermes  arms;2 
And  all  Olympus  rings  with  loud  alarms, 
Jove's  thunder  roars,  heav'n  trembles  all  around, 
Blue  Neptune  storms,  the  bellowing  deeps  resound: 
Earth  shakes  her  nodding  tow'rs,  the  ground  gives 

way, 

And  the  pale  ghosts  start  at  the  flash  of  day ! 
Triumphant  Umbriel  on  a  sconce'sjbeight 
Clapped  his  glad  wings,  and  sate  to  view  the  fight:3 
Propped  on  their  bodkin  spears,  the  sprites  survey 
The  growing  combat,  or  assist  the  fray. 

While  through  the  press  enraged  Thalestris  flies, 
And  scatters  death  around  from  both  her  eyes, 
A  beau  and  witling  perished  in  the  throng, 
One  died  in  metaphor,  and  one  in  song. 
"  O  cruel  nymph!  a  living  death  I  bear," 
Cried  Dapperwit,  and  sunk  beside  his  chair. 
A  mournful  glance  Sir  Fopling  upwards  cast, 


1  It  is  a  verse  frequently  repeated  in  Homer  after  any  speech. 

"  So  spoke,  and  all  the  heroes  applauded." — Pope. 

2  Homer,  "II."  xx.— Pope. 

3  Minerva,  in  like  manner,  during  the  battle  of  Ulysses  with  suitors 
in  the  Odyssey,  perches  on.  a  beam  of  the  roof  to  bellold  it,— Pope, 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK.  83 

x  Those  eyes  are  made  so  killing  JJ1  —  was  his  last,      a 
Thus  on  Maeander's  flowery  margin  lies 
Th'  expiring  swan,  as  he  sings  he  dies.2 

When  bold  Sir  Plume  had  drawn  Clarissa  down, 
Chloe  stepped  in,  and  killed  him  with  a  frown; 
She  smiled  to  see  the  doughty  hero  slain, 
But,  at  her  smile,  the  beau  revived  again. 

Now  Jove  suspends  his  golden  scales  in  air,8 
Weighs  the  men's  w«its  against  the  lady's  hair  • 
The  doubtful  beam  long  nods  from  side  to  side; 
At  length  the  wits  mount  up,  the  hairs  subside. 

See  fierce  Belinda  on  the  baron  flies, 
With  more  than  usual  lightning  in  her  eyes: 
Nor  feared  the  chief  th'  unequal  fight  to  try, 
Who  sought  110  more  than  on  his  foe  to  die. 
But  this  bold  lord,  with  manly  strength  endued, 
She  with  one  finger  and  a  thumb  subdued: 
Just  where  the  breath  of  life  his  nostrils  drew, 
A  charge  of  snuff  the  wily  virgin  threw. 
The  gnomes  direct,  to  ev'ry  atom  just, 
The  pungent  grains  of  titilating  dust. 
Sudden,  with  starting  tears  each  eye  o'erflows, 
And  the  high  dome  re-echoes  to  his  nose.  j§ 

"  Now  meet  thy  fate,"  incensed  Belinda  cried, 
And  drew  a  deadly  bodkin  from  her  side. 
(The  same  his  ancient  personage  to  deck,4 
Her  great-great-grandsire  wore  about  his  neck, 
In  three  seal-rings;  which  after,  melted  down, 
Formed  a  vast  buckle  for  his  widow's  gown: 
Her  infant  grandame's  whistle  next  it  grew, 
The  bells  she  jingled,  and  the  whistle  blew; 
Then  in  a  bodkin  graced  her  mother's  hairs, 
Which  long  she  wore,  and  now  Belinda  wears). 

"Boast  not  my  fall"  (lie  cried),  insulting  foe! 
Thou  by  some  other  shalt  be  laid  as  low: 
Nor  think,  to  die  dejects  my  lofty  mind: 
All  that  I  dread  is  leaving  you  behind  ! 
Rather  than  so,  ah  let  me  still  survive, 
And  burn  in  Cupid's  flames  —  but  burn  alive." 


1  The  words  of  a  song  in  the  opera  of  "  Camilla.  "—P 

2  "  Sic  ubi  fata  vocant  udis  abiectis  in  herbis, 

Ad  vado  Mseandri  concinit  albns  olor."  —  Ov.  Ep.  —  Pope. 
8  Vid.  Horn.  "II."  viii.  and  Virg.     <;  JEn."  xii.—  Pope. 
4  In  imitation  of  the  progress  of  Agamemnon's  sceptre  in  Homer. 
"U."  i 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

' Restore  the  lock!"  she  cries;  and  all  around 
)  "Restore  the  lock!"  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound. 
J^ot  fierce  Othello  in  so  loud  a  strain 
Roared  for  the  handkerchief  that  caused  his  pain. 
But  see  how  oft  ambitious  aims  are  crossed, 
And  chiefs  contend  till  all  the  prize  is  lost ! 
The  lock,  obtained  with  guilt,  and  kept  with  pain, 
In  ev'ry  place  is  sought,  but  sought  in  vain: 
With  such  a  prize  no  mortal  must  be  blest, 
So  Heav'n  decrees;  with  Heav'n  who  can  contest? 

Some  thought  it  mounted  to  the  lunar  sphere, 
Since  all  things  lost  on  earth  are  treasured  there^ 
There  heroes'  wits  are  kept  in  pond'rous  vases, 
And  beaux  in  snuff-boxes  and  tweezer-cases. 
There  broken  vows  and  death-bed  alms  are  found, 
And  lovers'  hearts  with  ends  of  ribbon  bqundL 
The"  courtier's  promises,  and  sick  man's  pray'rs, 
The  smiles  of  harlots,  and  the  tears,  of  heirs. 
Cages  for  gnats,  and  chains  to  yoke  a  flea, 
Dried  butterflies,  and  tones  of  casuistry. 

But  trust  the  Muse — she  saw  it  upward  rise, 
Though  marked  by  none  but  quick,  poetic  eyes: 
(So  Rome's  great  founder  to  the  heav'ns  withdrew, 
To  Proculus  alone  confessed  in  view) 
A  sudden  star,  it  shot  through  liquid  air, 
And  drew  behind  a  radiant  trail  of  hair.2 
Not  Berenice's  locks  first  rose  so  bright, 
The  heav'ns  bespangling  with  dishevelled  light. 
The  sylphs  behold  it  kindling  as  it  flies, 
And  pleased  pursue  its  progress  through  the  skies. 

This  the  beau  monde  shall  from  the  Mall  survey, 
And  hail  with  music  its  propitious  ray; 
This  the  blest  lover  shall  for  Venus  take, 
And  send  up  vows  from  Rosamonda's  lake.3 
This  Partridge4  soon  shall  view  in  cloudless  skies, 

1  A  celebrated  fiction  of  Ariosto's. 

"  Cid  che  in  somma  qua,  giu  perdeste  raai 
La,  su  saltendo  rit.ro  var  potrai." 

See  Ariosto.  Canto  xxxiv. — Pope. 
*  "  Flammiferuniqne  tra liens  spatioso  liinite  crimen, 

Stella  micat." — Ovid. — Pope. 

*  In  St.  James'  Park;  filled  in  during  the  hist  century. 
4  John  Partridge  was  a  ridiculous  star-gazer,  who  in  his  almanacs 
every  year  never  failed  to  predict  the  downfall  of  the  Pope,  and  the 
King  of  France,  then  at  war  with  the  English. — Pope.  In  ridicule  of 
these  prophecies  Swift  published  mock  predictions,  declaring  that  Par- 
tridge would  die  on  a  certain  day  in  the  following  March,  and  when 
the  day  came,  his  deati)  (in  accovdauce  witU  tfce  prophecy)  was  aj* 


MESSIAH.  85 

When  next  he  looks  through  Galileo's  eyes; 
And  hence  the  egregious  wizard  shall  foredoom 
The  fate  of  Louis,  and  the  fall  of  Eome. 
Then  cease,  bright  nymph  1  to  mourn  thy  ravished 

_«„„.«.—  —«^—~«i—«~~JJL«M—lfc—«t—™'^-—*~  *''•"'  MI.     .....  •   iiiwn  i 


Which  acids'  new  glory  to  the  shining  sphere  1 
Not  all  tlie  tresses  that  fair  head  can  boast, 
Shall  draw  sucli  envy  as  the  lock  you  lost. 
For  after  all  the  murders  of  your  eye, 
When^  after  millions  slain,  yourself  shall  die: 
When  those  fair  suns  shall  set,  as  set  they  must, 
And  all  those  tresses  shall  be  laid  in  dust, 
This  lock  the  Muse  shall  consecrate  to  fame, 
And  'midst  the  stars  inscribe  Belinda's  name. 


MESSIAH, 

A  SACRED  ECLOGUE. 

IN  IMITATION   OF  VIRGIL'S  POLLIO. 

Pope's  " Messiah "  was  first  Published  in  the  "  Spectator"  for  Mar 
14,  1712,  No.  378. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

IN  reading  several  passages  of  the  Prophet  Isaiah,  which 
foretell  the  coming  of  Christ,  and  the  felicities  attending  it,  I 
could  not  but  observe  a  remarkable  parity  between  many  of 
the  thoughts,  and  those  in  the  Pollio  of  Yirgil. l  This  will 
not  seem  surprising,  when  we  reflect,  that  the  Eclogue  was 
taken  from  a  Sibylline  prophecy  on  the  same  subject.  One 
may  judge  that  Virgil  did  not  copy  it  line  by  line,  but  made 

nounced.  The  poor  almanack  maker  loudly  protested  that  he  was  still 
alive  ;  but  his  assertion  was  met  by  the  wits  with  a  solemn  assurance 
that  he  must  be  mistaken,  that  he  was  dead,  or  at  least  ought  to  be. 
The  joke  is  immortalised  in  the  "  Tatler,"  and  must  have  been  in- 
tensely ludicrous  at  the  time. 

1  In  the  fourth  Eclogue  of  Yirgil  he  foretold  the  coming  of  a  won- 
drous child  who  was  to  restore  the  fabled  golden  age.  He  professed 
to  take  the  prediction  from  the  Sibylline  books  which  the  Sibyl  sold  to 
Tarquin,  and  which  were  used  as  state  oracles  by  the  Romans;  but  it 
is  believed  they  had  been  much  altered  before  Virgil's  time.  See 
Prideaux's  "  Connection,"  aud  also  Trench's  "  Unconscious  Prophecies 
of  Ueath.t*ad«ni." 


86  MESSIAH. 

use  of  such  ideas  as  best  agreed  with  the  nature  of  pastoral 
poetry,  and  disposed  them  in  that  manner  which  served  most 
to  beautify  his  piece.  I  have  endeavoured  the  same  in  this 
imitation  of  him,  though  without  admitting  anything  of  my 
own ;  since  it  was  written  with  this  particular  view,  that  the 
reader,  by  comparing  the  several  thoughts,  might  see  how  far 
the  images  and  descriptions  of  the  prophet  are  superior  to 
those  of  the  poet.  But  as  I  fear  I  have  prejudiced  them  by 
my  management,  I  shall  subjoin  the  passages  of  Isaiah,  and 
those  of  Virgil,  under  the  same  disadvantage  of  a  literal  trans- 
lation.— Pope, 


YE  nymphs  of  Solyma!1  begin  the  song: 
To  heav'nly  themes  sublimer  strains  belong. 
The  mossy  fountains,  and  the  sylvan  shades, 
The  dreams  of  Pindus  and  Aonian  maids,2 
Delight  no  more — O  Thou  my  voice  inspire 
Who  touched  Isaiah's  hallowed  lips  with  fire  !3 

Rapt  into  future  times,  the  bard  begun: 
A  Virgin  shall  conceive,  a  Virgin  bear  a  Son  !* 
From  Jesse's  root  behold  a  branch  arise,5 
Whose  sacred  flow'r  with  fragrance  fills  the  skies; 
Th'  ethereal  Spirit  o'er  its  leaves  shall  move, 
And  on  its  top  descends  the  mystic  dove. 
Ye  heav'ns !  from  high  the  dewy  nectar  pour,6 
And  in  soft  silence  shed  the  kindly  show'r ! 
The  sick7  and  weak  the  healing  plant  shall  aid, 
From  storms  a  shelter,  and  from  heat  a  shade. 
All  crimes  shall  cease,  and  ancient  fraud  shall  fail; 

1  Solyma— Jerusalem. 

2  The  Muses. 

3  Isaiah  vi.  6,  7. 

*  Virg.  Eel.  4,  vi. 

Jam  redit  et  Virgo,  redennt  Saturnia  regna : 
Jam  nova  progenies  cselo  deiuittitur  alto. 
Te  duce,  si  qua  manent  sceleris  vestigia  nostri, 
Irrita  perpetua  solvent  forrnadine  terras. 
Pacaturaqne  reget  patriis  virtutibus  orbem. 

"Now  the  Virgin  returns,  now  the  kingdom  of  Saturn  returns,  now 
a  new  progeny  is  sent  down  from  high  heaven.  By  means  of  Thee, 
whatever  reliques  of  our  crimes  remain,  shall  be  wiped  away,  and  free 
the  world  from  perpetual  fears.  He  shall  govern  the  world  in  peace 
with  the  virtues  of  his  father." 

Dante  says  that  Statins  was  made  a  Christian  by  reading  this  pas- 
sage in  Virgil.  See  L.  Gyraldus.— Warton. 

It  is  certainly  one  of  the  "unconscious  prophecies  of  Heathendom." 
Imitations  from  Isaiah,  chap.  vii.  14 :  chap.  ix.  6,  7. — Pope. 

5  Isaiah  xi.  1.— And  there  shall  come  forth  a  rod  out  of  the  stem  oi 
Jess,  and  a  branch  shall  grow  out  of  his  roots.— 

6  Isaiah  xlv.  8. — Pope, 
i  Isaiah  xxv.  6.— Pojje. 


MESSIAH.  87 

Keturning  Justice1  lift  aloft  her  scale; 
Peace  o'er  the  world  her  olive  wand  extend, 
And  white-robed  Innocence  from  heaven  descend. 
Swift  fly  the  years,  and  rise  th'  expected  morn ! 
Oh  spring  to  light,  auspicious  Babe,  be  born ! 
See  Nature  hastes  her  earliest  wreaths  to  bring,2 
With  all  the  incense  of  the  breathing  spring: 
See  lofty  Lebanon3  his  head  advance, 
See  nodding  forests  on  the  mountains  dance: 
See  spicy  clouds  from  lowly  Saron  rise, 
And  Carmers  flow'ry  top  perfumes  the  skies ! 
Hark !  a  glad  voice  the  lonely  desert  cheers; 
Prepare  the  way!4  a  God,  a  God  appears: 
A  God,  a  God !  the  vocal  hills  reply, 
The  rocks  proclaim  th'  approaching  Deity. 
Lo,  earth  receives  him  from  the  bending  skies ! 
Sink  down  ye  mountains,  and  ye  valleys  rise, 
With  heads  declined,  ye  cedars  homage  pay; 
Be  smooth  ye  rocks,  ye  rapid  floods  give  way ! 
The  Saviour  comes!  by  ancient  bards  foretold: 
Hear  Him,  ye  deaf,  and  all  ye  blind,  behold  !5 
He  from  thick  films  shall  purge  the  visual  ray, 
And  on  the  sightless  eyeball  pour  the  day: 
'Tis  He  th7  obstructed  paths  of  sound  shall  clear,8 
And  bid  new  music  charm  th'  unfolding  ear: 
The  dumb  shall  sing,  the  lame  his  crutch  forego, 

*  Astrea,  the  Virgin  goddess  of  Justice,  was  fabled  to  have  fled  from 
the  earth  at  the  close  of  the  G-olden  Age.— Isaiah  ix.  7. 

9-  Virg.  Eel.  iv.  18. 

At  tibi  prima,  puer !  nullo  munnscula  cultu, 
Errantes  hederas  passim  cum  baccare  tellus, 
Mixtaque  ridenti  colocasia  fundet  acantho. 
Ipsa  tibi  blandos  f  undent  cunabula  flores. 

"For  thee,  O  child,  shall  the  earth  without  being  tilled  produce  her 
early  offerings ;  winding  ivy,  mixed  with  Baccar  and  Colocasia  with 
emiling  Acanthus.    Thy  cradle  shall  pour  forth  pleasing  flowers  about 
thee." 
3  Isaiah  xxxv.  2.  and  Isaiah  Ix.  13. — Pope. 

*  Eel.  iv.  46. 

Aggredere,  6  magnos,  adherit  jam  tempus,  honores, 
Cara  deum  soboles,  magnum  Jo  vis  incrementum. 
Eel.  v.  62. 

Ipsi  lajtitia  voces  ad  sideram  jactant 
Intonsi  montes :  ipsae  jam  carnrina  rupe 
Ipsa  sonant  arbusta :  Deus,  Deus  ille  Menalca. 

"Oh  come  and  receive  the  mighty  honours,  the  time  draws  nigh,  O 
beloved  offspring  of  the  gods,  O  great  increase  of  Jove  !  The  unculti- 
vated mountains  send  shouts  of  joy  to  the  stars,  the  very  rocks  sing  in 
verse,  the  very  shrubs  cry  out,  A  God,  a  God."  See' Isaiah  xl .  3,  4, 
chap.  xliv.  23. — Pope. 

*  Isaiah  xlii.  8.— Pope. 

C  Isaiah  xxxv,  5.— Pope, 


88  MESSIAH. 

*s 

And  leap  exulting  like  the  bounding  roe.1 

No  sigh,  no  murmur  the  wide  world  shall  hear, 

From  ev'ry  face  he  wipes  off  ev'ry  tear. 

In  adamantine  chains  shall  death  be  bound,2 

And  hell's  grim  tyrant  feel  th'  eternal  wound. 

As  the  good  shepherd  tends  his  fleecy  care, 

Seeks  freshest  pasture  and  the  purest  air, 

Explores  the  lost,  the  wand'ring  sheep  directs, 

By  day  o'ersees  them,  and  by  night  protects, 

The  tender  lambs  He  raises  in  His  arms, 

Feeds  from  His  hand,  and  in  His  bosom  warms;8 

Thus  shall  mankind  His  guardian  care  engage, 

The  promised  Father  of  the  future  age.4 

No  more  shall  nation  against  nation  rise,5 

Nor  ardent  warriors  meet  with  hateful  eyes, 

Nor  fields  with  gleaming  steel  be  covered  o'er, 

The  brazen  trumpets  kindle  rage  no  more; 

But  useless  lances  into  scythes  shall  bend, 

And  the  broad  falchion  in  a  ploughshare  end. 

Then  palaces  shall  rise;  the  joyful  son6 

Shall  finish  what  his  short-lived  sire  begun: 

Their  vines  a  shadow  to  their  race  shall  yield, 

And  the  same  hand  that  sowed  shall  reap  the  field. 

The  swain  in  barren  deserts  with  surprise7 

Sees  lilies  spring,  and  sudden  verdure  rise;8 

And  starts,  amidst  the  thirsty  wilds  to  hear 

New  falls  of  water  murni'ring  in  his  ear. 

On  rifted  rocks,  the  dragon's  late  abodes, 

The  green  reed  trembles,  and  the  bulrush  nods. 

Waste  sandy  valleys,  once  perplexed  with  thorn, 

The  spiry  fir  and  shapely  box  adorn:9 

1  Isaiah  xxxv.  6.— Pope. 

2  Isaiah  xxv.  8.— Pope. 

3  Isaiah  xl.  11. — Pope. 

4  Isaiah  ix.  6. — Pope.    In  Isaiah  it  is  "  the  Everlasting  Father " 
which  the  Seventy  render  "The  Father  of  the  world  to  come,"  agree- 
ably to  the  style  of  the  New  Testament,  in  which  the  kingdom  of  the 
Messiah  is  called  the  age  of  the  world  to  come.    Mr.  Pope,  therefore, 
has  with  great  judgment  adopted  the  sense  of  the  LXX.— Warton. 

e  Isaiah  ii.  4.— Pope. 

6  Isaiah  Ixv.  21,  22. 

f  Isaiah  xxxv.  1.— Pope. 

*  Virg.  Eel.  iv.  28. 

Molli  paulatim,  flavescet  campus  arista, 
Incultisque  rubens  pendebit  sentibns  uva, 
Et  durae  quercus  sudabunt  roscida  mella. 

*  The  fields  shall  grow  yellow  with  ripened  ears,  and  the  red  grape 
shall  hang  upon  the  wild  brambles,  and  the  hard  oak  shall  distil  hone,? 
like  dew."    Isaiah  xxxv.  7.  and  Iv.  13.— Pope. 

*  Isaiah  xli.  19,  and  Ivi.  13.— Pope, 


MESSIAH.  89 

To  leafless  shrubs,  the  flow'ring  palms  succeed, 

And  od'rous  myrtle  to  the  noisome  weed. 

The  lambs  with  wolves  shall  graze  the  verdant  mead,1 

And  boys  in  flow'ry  bands  the  tiger  lead; 

The  steer  and  lion  at  one  crib  shall  meet,2 

And  harmless  serpents  lick  the  pilgrim's  feet. 

The  smiling  infant  in  his  hand  shall  take 

The  crested  basilisk  and  speckled  snake, 

Pleased,  the  green  lustre  of  the  scales  survey, 

And  with  their  forky  tongues  shall  innocently  play. 

Rise,  crowned  with  light,  imperial  Salem,  rise ! 

Exalt  thy  tow'ry  head,  and  lift  thy  eyes  P 

See  a  long  race4  thy  spacious  courts  adorn; 

See  future  sons,  and  daughters  yet  unborn, 

In  crowding  ranks  on  ev'ry  side  arise, 

Demanding  life,  impatient  for  the  skies ! 

See  barb'rous  nations  at  thy  gates  attend,5 

Walk  in  thy  light,  and  in  thy  temple  bend; 

See  thy  bright  altars  thronged  with  prostrate  kings, 

And  heaped  with  products  of  Sabsean  springs  I6 

For  thee  Idume's  spicy  forests  blow, 

And  seeds  of  gold  in  Ophir's  mountains  glow. 

See  heav'n  its  sparkling  portals  wide  display, 

And  break  upon  thee  in  a  flood  of  day ! 

No  more  the  rising  sun  shall  gild  the  morn,7 

Nor  ev'ning  Cynthia  fill  her  silver  horn; 

But  lost,  dissolved  in  thy  superior  rays, 

One  tide  of  glory,  one  unclouded  blaze 

1  Yirg.  Eel.  iv.  21. 

Ipsae  lacte  domum  referent  distenta  capellse 

Ubera,  nee  maguos  metuent  armenta  leones. — 

Occidet  et  serpens,  et  fallax  herba  veiieiii 

Occidet. 

"  The  goats  shall  bear  to  the  field  their  udders  distended  with  milk ; 
nor  shall  the  herds  be  afraid  of  the  greatest  lions.  The  serpent  shall 
die,  and  the  herb  that  conceals  poison  shall  die."  Isaiah  xi.  6,  7,  8.— 
Pope. 

2  Isaiah  Ixv.  25.— Pope. 

3  The  thoughts  of  Isaiah  which  compose  the  latter  part  of  the  poem 
are  wonderfully  exalted,  and  much  above  those  general  exclamations 
of  Virgil,  which  make  the  loftiest  part  of  his  Pollio — 

Magnus  ab  integro  saeclorum  nascitur  ordo, 
— toto  surget  gens,  aurea  mundo ! 
— incipient  magni  procedere  menses ! 
aspice,  venturo  laitentur  ut  omnia  saeclo !  &c. 

The  reader  needs  only  turn  to  the  passages  of  Isaiah  bore  cited,— 
Pope. 

*  Isaiah  Ix.  4— Pope. 

5  Isaiah  Ix.  3.— Pope. 

6  Isaiah  Ix.  6. — Pope. 

7  Isaiah  Ix,  19,  20,— P 


90  ELEGY. 

O'erflow  thy  courts :  the  Light  Himself  shall  shine 
Revealed,  and  God's  eternal  day  be  thine ! 
The  seas  shall  waste,  the  skies  in  smoke  decay,1 
Rocks  fall  to  dust,  and  mountains  melt  away; 
But  fixed  His  word,  His  saving  power  remains; — 
Thy  realm  for  ever  lasts;  thy  own  MESSIAH  reigns! 


ELEGY 

TO    THE   MEMOBY  OF"  AN    UNFOETUNATE 
LADY.2 

SUPPOSED  TO, HAVE  BEEN  WEITTEN  IN  1712,  BUT  PUBLISHED  1717. 

WHAT  beck'ning  ghost,  along  the  moonlight  shade 

Invites  my  steps,  and  points  to  yonder  glade  ? 

'Tis  she ! — but  why  that  bleeding  bosom  gored, 

Why  dimly  gleams  the  visionary  sword ! 

Oh  ever  beauteous,  ever  friendly !  tell, 

Is  it  in  heav'n,  a  crime  to  love  too  well? 

To  bear  too  tender,  or  too  firm  a  heart, 

To  act  a  lover's  or  a  Roman's  part  ? 

Is  there  no  bright  reversion  in  the  sky, 

For  those  who  greatly  think,  or  bravely  die  ? 

Why  bade  ye  else,  ye  powers !  her  soul  aspire 
Above  the  vulgar  flight  of  low  desire  ? 
Ambition  first  sprung  from  your  blest  abodes; 
The  glorious  fault  of  angels  and  of  gods; 
Thence  to  their  images  on  earth  it  flows, 
And  in  the  breasts  of  kings  and  heroes  glows. 
Most  souls,  'tis  true,  but  peep  out  once  an  age, 
Dull  sullen  pris'ners  in  the  body's  cage : 
Dim  lights  of  life,  that  burn  a  length  of  years 
Useless,  unseen,  as  lamps  in  sepulchres; 

1  Isaiah  li.  6  and  liv.  W.—Pope. 

2  See  the  Duke  of  Buckingham's  verses  to  a  lady  designing  to  retire 
into  a  monastery  compared  with  Mr.  Pope's  letters  to  several  ladies. 
S^e  seems  to  be  the  same  person  whose  unfortunate  death  is  the  sub- 
ject of  this  poem. — Pope. 

Nothing  at  all  certain  is  known  as  to  the  "Lady"  of  the  Elegy;  so 
conflicting  are  the  statements,  that  she  may  be  a  fictitious  heroine 
Only. 


ELEGY.  91 

Like  Eastern  kings  a  lazy  state  they  keep, 
And  close  confined  to  their  own  palace,  sleep. 

From  these  perhaps  (ere  nature  bade  her  die) 
Fate  snatched  her  early  to  the  pitying  sky. 
As  into  air  the  purer  spirits  flow, 
And  separate  from  their  kindred  dregs  below; 
So  flew  the  soul  to  its  congenial  place, 
Nor  left  one  virtue  to  redeem  her  race. 

But  thou,  false  guardian  of  a  charge  too  good, 
Thou,  mean  deserter  of  thy  brother's  blood! 
See  on  these  ruby  lips  the  trembling  breath, 
These  cheeks  now  fading  at  the  blast  of  death: 
Cold  is  that  breast  which  warmed  the  world  before 
And  those  love-darting  eyes  must  roll  no  more. 
Thus,  if  eternal  justice  rules  the  ball, 
Thus  shall  your  wives,  and  thus  your  children  fall; 
On  all  the  line  a  sudden  vengeance  waits, 
And  frequent  hearses  shall  besiege  your  gates. 
There  passengers  shall  stand,  and  pointing  say, 
(While  the  long  fun'rals  blacken  all  the  way), 
"  Lo  these  were  they,  whose  souls  the  furies  steeledc 
And  cursed  with  hearts  unknowing  how  to  yield. 
Thus  unlamented  pass  the  proud  away, 
The  gaze  of  fools,  and  pageant  of  a  day ! 
So  perish  all,  whose  breasts  ne'er  learned  to  glow 
For  others'  good,  or  melt  at  others'  woe." 

What  can  atone  (oh  ever-injured  shade !) 
Thy  fate  unpitied,  and  thy  rights  unpaid  ? 
No  friend's  complaint,  no  kind  domestic  tear 
Pleased  thy  pale  ghost,  or  graced  thy  mournful  bier. 
By  foreign  hands  thy  dying  eyes  were  closed, 
By  foreign  hands  thy  decent  limbs  composed. 
By  foreign  hands  thy  humble  grave  adorned, 
By  strangers  honoured,  and  by  strangers  mourned ! 
What  though  no  friends  in  sable  weeds  appear, 
Grieve  for  an  hour,  perhaps,  then  mourn  a  year 
And  bear  about  the  mockery  of  woe 
To  midnight  dances,  and  the  public  show  ? 
What  though  no  weeping  loves  thy  ashes  grace, 
Nor  polished  marble  emulate  thy  face  ? 
What  though  no  sacred  earth  allow  thee  room, 
Nor  hallowed  dirge  be  muttered  o'er  thy  tomb  ? 
Yet  shall  thy  grave  with  rising  flow'rs  be  drest, 
And  the  green  turf  lie  lightly  on  thy  breast; 


92  PEOLOGUE: 

Tli  ere  shall  the  morn  her  earliest  tears  bestow, 
There  the  first  roses  of  the  year  shall  blow: 
While  angels  with  their  silver  wings  o'ershade 
The  grounds  now  sacred  by  thy  reliques  made. 

So  peaceful  rests,  without  a  stone,  a  name, 
What  once  had  beauty,  titles,  wealth  and  fame. 
How  loved,  how  honoured  once,  avails  thee  not, 
To  whom  related,  or  by  whom  begot; 
A  heap  of  dust  alone  remains  of  thee, 
JTis  all  thou  art,  and  all  the  proud  shall  be ! 

Poets  themselves  must  fall,  like  those  they  sung, 
Deaf  the  praised  ear,  and  mute  the  tuneful  tongue. 
Ev'n  he,  whose  soul  now  melts  in  mournful  lays, 
Shall  shortly  want  the  gen'rous  tear  he  pays: 
Then  from  his  closing  eyes  thy  form  shall  part, 
And  the  last  pang  shall  tear  thee  from  his  heart, 
Life's  idle  business  at  one  gasp  be  o'er, 
The  muse  forgot,  and  thou  be  loved  no  more! 


PROLOGUE 

TO  ME.  ADDISON'S  TEAGEDY  OF  CATO. 

To  wake  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of  art, 
To  raise  the  genius,  and  to  mend  the  heart; 
To  make  mankind,  in  conscious  virtue  bold, 
Live  o'er  each  scene,  and  be  what  they  behold  : 
For  this  the  tragic  muse  first  trod  the  stage, 
Commanding  tears  to  stream  through  ev'ry  age; 
Tyrants  no  more  their  savage  nature  kept,1 
Aid  foes  to  virtue  wondered  how  they  wept. 
Our  author  shuns  by  vulgar  springs  to  move 
The  hero's  glory,  or  the  virgin's  love  ; 
In  pitying  love,  we  but  our  weakness  show, 
And  wild  ambition  well  deserves  its  woe. 
Here  tears  shall  flow  from  a  more  gen'rous  cause, 
Such  tears  as  patriots  shed  for  dying  laws  : 

1  Louis  XIV.  wished  to  have  pardoned  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  after 
bearing  the  "  Ciima"  of  Corneille.— Warton, 


PROLOGUE. 

He  bids  your  breasts  with  ancient  ardour  rise, 
And  calls  forth  Roman  drops  from  British  eyes. 
Virtue  confessed  in  human  shape  he  draws, 
What  Plato  thought,  and  godlike  Cato  was  : 
No  common  object  to  your  sight  displays, 
But  what  with  pleasure  heav'n  itself  surveys, 
A  brave  man  struggling  in  the  storms  of  fate, 
And  greatly  falling,  with  a  falling  state. 
While  Cato  gives  his  little  senate  laws, 
What  bosom  beats  not  in  his  country's  cause  ? 
Who  sees  him  act,  but  envies  ev'ry  deed  ? 
Who  hears  him  groan,  and  does  not  wish  to  bleed  ? 
Ev'n  when  proud  Csesar  'midst  triumphal  cars, 
The  spoils  of  nations  and  the  pomp  of  wars, 
Ignobly  vain  and  impotently  great, 
Showed  Borne  her  Cato's  figure  drawn  in  state  ; 
And  her  dead  Father's  rev'rend  image  past, 
The  pomp  was  darkened*  and  the  day  o'ercast ; 
The  triumph  ceased,  tears  gushed  from  ev'ry  eye  • 
The  world's  great  victor  passed  unheeded  by  ; 
Her  last  good  man  dejected  Borne  adored, 
And  honoured  Caesar's  less  than  Cato's  sword. 

Briton's  attend  :  be  worth  like  this  approved, 
And  show,  you  have  the  virtue  to  be  moved. 
With  honest  scorn  the  first  famed  Cato  viewed 
Borne  learning  arts  from  Greece,  whom  she  subdued;" 
Your  scene  precariously  subsists  too  long 
On  French  translation,  and  Italian  song. 
Dare  to  have  sense  yourselves  ;  assert  the  stage, 
Be  justly  warmed  with  your  own  native  rage  : 
Such  plays  alone  should  win  a  British  ear, 
As  Cato's  self  had  not  disdained  to  hear.2 

1  The  noble  passage  of  Seneca,  which  Addison  adopted  as  a  motto, 
is  here  finely  alluded  to  by  Pope. 

a  This  alludes  to  that  famous  story  of  his  coming  iuto  the  theatre^ 
and  going  out  again,  related  by  Martial.— Warburton. 


EPILOGUE 

TO  ME.  KOWE'S  JANE  SHOKE. 


PRODIGIOUS  this !  the  frail  one  of  our  play 
From  her  own  sex  should  mercy  find  to-day! 
You  might  have  held  the  pretty  head  aside, 
Peeped  in  your  fans,  been  serious,  thus,  and  cried, 
"The  play  may  pass — but  that  strange  creature,  Shore, 

I  can't — indeed  now — I  so  hate  a  w " 

Just  as  a  blockhead  rubs  his  thoughtless  skull, 

And  thanks  his  stars  he  was  not  born  a  fool ; 

So  from  a  sister  sinner  you  shall  hear, 

"  How  strangely  you  expose  yourself,  my  dear  1" 

But  let  me  die,  all  raillery  apart, 

Our  sex  are  still  forgiving  at  their  heart ; 

And,  did  not  wicked  custom  so  contrive, 

We'd  be  the  best  good-natured  things  alive. 

There  are,  'tis  true,  who  tell  another  tale, 
That  virtuous  ladies  envy  while  they  rail ; 
Such  rage  without  betrays  the  fire  within ; 
In  some  close  corner  of  the  soul,  they  sin ; 
Still  hoarding  up,  most  scandalously  nice, 
Amidst  their  virtues  a  reserve  of  vice. 
The  godly  dame,  who  fleshly  failings  damns, 
Scolds  with  her  maid,  or  with  her  chaplain  crams. 
Would  you  enjoy  soft  nights  and  solid  dinners  ? 
Faith,  gallants,  board  with  saints,  and  bed  with  sin- 
ners. 

Well,  if  our  author  in  the  wife  offends, 
He  has  a  husband  that  will  make  amends  : 
He  draws  him  gentle,  tender,  and  forgiving, 
And  sure  such  kind  good  creatures  may  be  living. 

1  Mrs.  Oldfield  was  a  very  celebrated  actress,  and  was  admitted  to 
the  best  society  of  the  period.  George  U.  and  Queen  Caroline  some- 
times condescended  to  converse  with  her  at  their  levees.  Caroline 
(when  Princess  of  Wales)  asked  her  one  day  if  she  was  married  to 
General  Churchill.  She  replied,  "  So  it  is  said  may  it  please  your  High- 
ness, but  we  have  not  owned  it  yet."  She  was  very  generous,  and  al- 
lowed Savage,  the  poet,  £50  a  year. 

This  epilogue  was  not  spoken. 


EPILOGUE.  •  95 

In  days  of  old,  they  pardoned  breach  of  vows, 
Stern  Cato's  self  was  no  relentless  spouse  ; 
Plu-Plutarch,  what's  his  name  that  writes  his  life  ? 
Tells  us,  that  Cato  dearly  loved  his  wife  : 
Yet  if  a  friend,  a  night  or  so  should  need  her, 
He'd  recommend  her  as  a  special  breeder. 
To  lend  a  wife,  few  here  would  scruple  make, 
But  pray,  which  of  you  all  would  take  her  back? 
Though  with  the  stoic  chief  our  stage  may  ring, 
The  stoic  husband  was  the  glorious  thing. 
The  man  had  courage,  was  a  sage,  'tis  true, 
And  loved  his  country — but  what's  that  to  you  ? 
Those  strange  examples  ne'er  were  made  to  fit  ye 
But  the  kind  cuckold  might  instruct  the  city  : 
There,  many  an  honest  man  may  copy  Cato, 
"Who  ne'er  saw  naked  sword,  or  looked  in  Plato. 

If,  after  all,  you  think  it  a  disgrace, 
That  Edward's  miss  thus  perks  it  in  your  face  ; 
To  see  a  piece  of  failing  flesh  and  blood, 
In  all  the  rest  so  impudently  good ; 
Faith,  let  the  modest  matrons  of  the  town 
Come  here  in  crowds  and  stare  the  3 down. 


WINDSOR  FOREST. 

TO  THE  EIGHT  HONOURABLE  GEORGE,  LORD   LANSDOWN. 

Non  injussa  cano :  te  nostree,  Vare,  myricas, 

Te  Nemus  omne  canet;  nee  Phcebo  gratior  ulla  est 

Quam  sibi  quae  Vari  proescripsit  pagina  nomen. 

Virg.  Eel.  vi.  10—12. 

1713. 


There  is  a  local  tradition  that  Pope  composed  this  poem,  sitting 
under  a  beech  tree  in  the  forest.  The  original  tree  having  decayed, 
Lady  Grower  had  a  memorial  carved  upon  the  back  of  another  im- 
mediately adjoining :  "Here  Pope  sang."  The  marks  were  visible 
in  1806,  but  were  fast  wearing  out. 

This  poem  was  written  at  two  different  times :  the  first  part  of  it, 
which  relates  to  the  country,  in  the  year  1704,  at  the  same  time  with 
the  Pastorals :  the  latter  part  was  not  added  till  the  year  1713,  Ua 
which  it  was  published. 


THY  forests,  Windsor !  and  thy  green  retreats, 
At  once  the  monarch's  and  the  muse's  seats, 
Invite  my  lays.     Be  present,  sylvan  maids ! 
Unlock  your  springs,  and  open  all  your  shades.1 
Granville2  commands;  your  aid,  O  muses,  bring! 
What  muse  for  Granville  can  refuse  to  sing  ? 
The  groves  of  Eden,  vanished  now  so  long, 
Live  in  description,  and  look  green  in  song: 
These,  were  my  breast  inspired  with  equal  flame, 
Like  them  in  beauty,  should  be  like  in  fame. 
Here  hills  and  vales,  the  woodland  and  the  plain, 
Here  earth  and  water  seem  to  strive  again; 

1  Originally  thus : 

Chaste  goddess  of  the  woods, 

Nymphs  of  the  vales  and  ^Naiads  of  the  floods, 

Lead  me  through  circling  bbw'rs  and  glimm'ring  glades, 

Unlock  your  springs.— Pope. 

2  George  Granville.  Lord  Lansdown.  though  praised  as  a  poet  by 

,  and  Pope,  was  but  a  feeble  imitator  of 


Der  of  Queen  Anne's  rrivy  uouncii.  ne  was  created  a  peer  mi.  uu 
tlie  accession  of  George  I.  he  was  seized  as  a  suspected  person  and  con- 
fined in  the  tower.  Lord  Lansdown  was  a  man  worthy  of  being  a 
poet's  Iriend,  as  he  was  a  lover  and  patron  of  literature,  a' patriot,  uud 
iu  all  respects  a  noble  gentleman. 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  97 

Not  chaos-like  together  crushed  and  bruised, 
But,  as  the  world,  harmoniously  confused: 

1 1  Where  order  in  variety  we  see, 

U  And  where,  though  all  things  differ,  all  agree. 
Here  waving  grgves  a  chequered  scene  display, 
And  part  admit,  and  part  exclude  the  day; 
As  some  coy  nymph  her  lover's  warm  address 
Nor  quite  indulges,  nor  can  quite  repress. 
There,  interspersed  in  lawns  and  opening  glades, 
Thin  trees  arise  that  shun  each  other's  shades. 
Here  in  full  light  the  russet  plains  extend: 
There  wrapt  in  clouds  the  bluish  hills  ascend. 
Even  the  wild  heath  displays  her  purple  dyes.1 
And  'midst  the  desert  fruitful  fields  arise, 
That  crowned  with  tufted  trees  and  springing  corn, 
,Like  verdant  isles  the  sable  waste  adorn. 
Let  India  boast  her  plants,  nor  envy  we 
The  weeping  amber  or  the  balmy  tree, 
While  by  our  oaks  the  precious  loads  are  borne, 
And  realms  commanded  which  those  trees  adorn. 
Not  proud  Olympus  yields  a  nobler  sight, 
Though  gods  assembled  grace  his  tow'ring  height, 
Than  what  more  humble  mountains  offer  here, 
Where,  in  their  blessings,  all  these  gods  appear. 
See  Pan  with  flocks,  with  fruits  Pomona  crowned. 
Here  blushing  Flora  paints  th'  enamelled  ground, 

»  Here  Ceres'  gifts  in  waving  prospect  stand, 
And  nodding  tempt  the  joyful  reaper's  hand; 
Rich  Industry  sits  smiling  on  the  plains, 
And  peace  and  plenty  tell,  a  STUART  reigns. 
"^Trirthus  the  laiid  appeared  in  ages  past, 
A  dreary  desert,  and  a  gloomy  waste, 
To  savage  beasts  and  savage  laws  a  prey.2 
And  kings  more  furious  and  severe  than  they; 
Who  claimed  the  skies,  dispeopled  air  and  floods, 
The  lonely  lords  of  empty  wilds  and  woods: 
Cities  laid  waste,  they  stormed  the  dens  and  caves, 
(For  wiser  brutes  were  backward  to  be  slaves) : 

1  Originally  thus : 

Why  should  I  sing  our  better  suns  and  air, 
Whose  vital  draughts  prevent  the  leeches  care, 
While  through  fresh  fields  th'  enlivening:  odours  breathe, 
Or  spread  with  vernal  pomps  the  purple  "heath  ? — Pope. 

2  "Savage  laws,"  the  forest  laws  made  by  the  Xortnan  kings.     The 
killing  of  a  deer,  boar,  or  hare,  was  punished  wilU  the.  loss  of  the  de. 
Ui<4.ueut's  eyea,— 


98  WINDSOR  FOREST. 

What  could  be  free,  when  lawless  beasts  obeyed, 
And  ev'n  the  elements  a  tyrant  swayed? 
In  vain  kind  seasons  swelled  the  teeming  grain, 
Soft  show'rs  distilled,  and  suns  grew  warm  in  vain; 
The  swain  with  tears  his  frustrate  labour  yields, 

r^4nd  famished  dies  amidst  his  ripened  fields. 

I  What  wonder  then,  a  beast  or  subject  slain1 

[Were  equal  crimes  in  a  despotic  reign ? 
Both  doomed  alike,  for  sportive  tyrants  bled, 

J$nt  while  the  subject  starved,  the  beast  was  fed. 
Proud  Nimrod  first  the  bloody  chase  began, 

[A  mighty  hunter,  and  his  prey  was  man: 
Our  haughty  Norman  boasts  that  barb'rous  name, 
And  makes  his  trembling  slaves  the  royal  game. 
The  fields  are  ravished2  from  th5  industrious  swains, 
From  men  their  cities,  and  from  gods  their  fanes:3 
The  levelled  towns  with  weeds  lie  covered  o'er; 
The  hollow  winds  through  naked  temples  roar; 
Bound  broken  columns  clasping  ivy  twined; 
O'er  heaps  of  ruin  stalked  the  stately  hind; 
The  fox  obscene  to  gaping  tombs  retires, 
And  savage  howlings  fill  the  sacred  choirs. 
Awed  by  his  nobles,  by  his  commons  curst, 
The  oppressor  ruled  tyrannic  where  he  durst, 
Stretched  o'er  the  poor  and  church  his  iron  rod, 
And  served  alike  his  vassals  and  his  God. 
Whom  ev'n  the  Saxon  spared  and  bloody  Dane, 
The  wanton  victims  of  his  sport  remain. 
But  see,  the  man  who  spacious  regions  gave 
A  waste  for  beasts,  himself  denied  a  grave  !4 
Stretched  on  the  lawn  his  second  hopes  survey,5 
At  once  the  chaser,  and  at  once  the  prey; 

1  No  wonder  savages  or  subjects  slain — 
But  subjects  starved  Avhile  savages  were  fed. 

It  was  originally  thus,  but  the  word  savages  is  not  properly  applied 
to  beasts,  but  to  men  ;  which  occasioned  the  alteration.—  Pope. 

2  Alluding  to  the  destruction  made  in  the  New  Forest,  and  the  tyr- 
annies exercised  there  by  William  I. — Pope. 

3  Translation  from 

Templa  adimit  divis,  fora  civibus,  arva  colonis. 
An  old  monkish  writer,  I  forget  who. — Pope. 

4  Just  as  the  body  of  William  the  Conqueror  was  going  to  be  lowered 
into  the  grave,  a  voice  cried  aloud,  "1  forbid  his  interment.    When 
William  was  only  Duke  of  Normandy  he  seized  this  piece  of  land  from 
my  father,   without  making  a  recompense,  which  I  now  demand." 
Prince  Henry,  who  was  present,  spoke  to  the  man,  who  was  now  only 
an  armourer,  and  agreed  to  give  him  a  hundred  crowns  for  his  father's 
burial  place. 

6  His  second  hope  was  Richard,  his  second  son,  gored  by  a  stag  is 
the  New  Forest, 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  99 

Lo  Kufus,  tugging  at  the  deadly  dart, 

Bleeds  in  the  forest  like  a  wounded  hart.1 

Succeeding  monarchs  heard  the  subjects'  cries, 

Nor  saw  displeased  the  peaceful  cottage  rise. 

Then  gath'ring  flocks  on  unknown  mountains  fed, 

O'er  sandy  wilds  were  yellow  harvests  spread ; 

The  forests  wondered  at  th'  unusual  grain, 

And  secret  transport  touched  the  conscious  swain. 

Fair  Liberty,  Britannia's  goddess,  rears 

Her  cheerful  head,  and  leads  the  golden  years.2 

Ye  vig'rous  swains!   while  youth  ferments  your 

blood, 

And  purer  spirits  swell  the  sprightly  flood, 
Now  range  the  hills,  the  gameful  woods  beset, 
Wind  the  shrill  horn,  or  spread  the  waving  net. 
When  milder  autumn  summer's  heat  succeeds,3 
And  in  the  new-shorn  field  the  partridge  feeds; 
Before  his  lord  the  ready  spaniel  bounds, 
Panting  with  hope,  he  tries  the  furrowed  grounds; 
But  when  the  tainted  gales  the  game  betray, 
Couched  close  he  lies,  and  meditates  the  prey: 
Secure  they  trust  th'  unfaithful  field  beset, 
Till  hov'ring  o'er  them  sweeps  the  swelling  net. 
Thus  (if  small  things  we  may  with  great  compare) 
When  Albion  sends  her  eager  sons  to  war, 
Some  thoughtless  town,  with  ease  and  plenty  blest, 
Near,  and  more  near,  the  closing  lines  invest; 
Sudden  they  seize  th'  amazed,  defenceless  prize, 
And  high  in  air  Britannia's  standard  flies. 

See !  from  the  brake  the  whirring  pheasant  springs, 
And  mounts  exulting  on  triumphant  wings: 
Short  is  his  joy;  he  feels  the  fiery  wound, 
Flutters  in  blood,  and  panting  beats  the  ground. 
Ah !  what  avail  his  glossy,  varying  dyes, 
His  purple  crest,  and  scarlet-circled  eyes, 

1  Rafns  was  accidently  slain  in  the  New  Forest,  which  his  father 
had  so  wickedly  formed,  by  his  favourite  Sir  Walter  Tj'rrel.    The  spot 
where  he  fell  is  now  marked  by  a  stone. 

2  Originally : 

O  may  no  more  a  foreign  master's  rage 

With  wrongs,  yet  legal,  curse  a  future  age. 

Still  spread,  fair  Liberty,  thy  heav'nly  wings, 

Breathe  plenty  011  the  field  and  fragrance  on  the  springs.— Pope. 
8  Originally : 

When  yellow  autumn  summer's  near  succeeds, 

And  into  wine  the  purple  harvest  bleeds. 

The  partridge  feeding  in  th6  new-shorn  fields, 

Both  morning  sports  and  evening  pleasure  yields^— Pope. 


100  WINDSOR  FOEEST. 

The  vivid  green  his  shining  plumes  unfold, 

His  painted  wings,  and  breast  that  flames  with  gold  1 

Nor  yet,  when  moist  Arcturus  clouds  the  sky,1 
The  woods  and  fields  their  pleasing  toils  deny. 
To  plains'  with  well-breathed  beagles  we  repair, 
And  trace  the  mazes  of  the  circling  hare: 
I  (Beasts,  urged  by  us,  their  fellow-beasts  pursue, 
j  And  learn  of  man  each  other  to  undo). 
With  slaughtering  guns  th'  unwearied  fowler  roves, 
When  frosts  have  whitened  all  the  naked  groves; 
Where  doves  in  flocks  the  leafless  trees  o'ershade, 
And  lonely  woodcocks  haunt  the  wat'ry  glade. 
He  lifts  the  tube,  and  levels  with  his  eye;* 
Straight  a  short  thunder  breaks  the  frozen  sky: 
Oft,  as  in  airy  rings  they  skim  the  heath, 
The  clam'rous  lapwings  feel  the  leaden  death: 
Oft,  as  the  mounting  larks  their  notes  prepare, 
r  They  fall,  and  leave  their  little  lives  in  air. 
,  ^          In  genial  spring,  beneath  the  quiv'ring  shade, 
Where  cooling  vapours  breathe  along  the  mead, 
LX-<V        The  patient  fisher  takes  his  silent  stand, 
Intent,  his  angle  trembling  in  his  hand: 
With  looks  unmoved,  he  hopes  the  scaly  breed, 
And  eyes  the  dancing  cork,  and  bending  reed. 
Our  plenteous  streams  a  various  race  supply, 
The  bright  eyed  perch  with  fins  of  Tyrian  dye. 
The  silver  eel,  in  shining  volumes  rolled, 
The  yellow  carp  in  scales  bedropped  with  gold, 
Swift  trouts,  diversified  with  crimson  stains, 
And  pikes,  the  tyrants  of  the  watery  plains. 

Now  Cancer  glows  with  Phoebus'  fiery  car;3 
The  youth  rush  eager  to  the  sylvan  war, 
Swarm  o'er  the  lawns,  the  forest  walks  surround, 
Rouse  the  fleet  hart,  and  cheer  the  opening  hound. 
Th'  impatient  courser  pants  in  ev'ry  vein, 
And,  pawing,  seems  to  beat  the  distant  plain. 
Hills,  vales,  and  floods  appear  already  crossed, 
And  ere  he  starts,  a  thousand  steps  are  lost. 

1  Originally  thus : 

When  hoary  winter  clothes  the  years  in  white, 
The  woods  and  fields  to  pleasing  toils  invite. — Pope. 

2  The  fowler  lifts  his  levelled  tube  on  high.— Pope. 

3  Originally  thus : 

But  when  bright  Phoebus  from  the  Twins  invites 

Our  active  genius  to  more  free  delights, 

Wjth  springing  day  we  range  thy  lawns  around. — Pope, 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  101 

See  the  bold  youth  strain  up  the  threat'ning  steep, 
Bush  through  the  thickets,  down  the  valleys  sweep, 
Hang  o'er  their  coursers'  heads  with  eager  speed, 
And  earth  rolls  back  beneath  the  flying  steed. 
Let  old  Arcadia  boast  her  ample  plain, 
Th'  immortal  huntress,  and  her  virgin  train;1 
Nor  envy,  Windsor  !  since  thy  shades  have  seen 
As  bright  a  goddess,  and  as  chaste  a  queen;2 
Whose  care,  like  hers,  protects  the  sylvan 
The  earth's  fair  lighty  and  empreftfcflf  tiha 


Here  too,  'tis  sung,  of  old  Diana  strayed, 
And  Cynthus'  top  forsook  for  Windsor  shade: 
Here  was  she  seen  o'er  airy  wastes  to  rove, 
Seek  the  clear  spring,  or  haunt  the  pathless  grove; 
Here  armed  with  silver  bows,  in  early  dawn, 
Her  fcuskined  virgins  traced  the  dewy  lawn. 

Above  the  rest  a  rural  nymph  was  famed, 
Th^J^spnng,  Thames]  the  f  air  Lodpna^amad; 
"(Lodona/sTate,  in  long  oblivion  cast, 
The  muse  shall  sing,  and  what  she  sings  shall  last). 
Scarce  could  the  goddess  from  her  nymph  be  known, 
But  by  the  crescent  and  the  golden  zone, 
She  scorned  the  praise  of  beauty,  and  the  care; 
A  belt  her  waist,  a  fillet  binds  her  hair; 
A  painted  quiver  on  her  shoulder  sounds, 
And  with  her  dart  the  flying  deer  she  wounds. 
It  chanced,  as  eager  of  the  chase,  the  maid 
Beyond  the  forest's  verdant  limits  strayed, 
Pan  saw  and  loved,  and,  burning  with  desire, 
Pursued  her  flight,  her  flight  increased  his  fire. 
Not  half  so  swift  the  trembling  doves  can  fly, 
When  the  fierce  eagle  cleaves  the  liquid  sky; 
Not  half  so  swiftly  the  fierce  eagle  moves, 
~WHen  through  the  clouds  he  drives  the  trembling 

doves, 

As  from  the  god  she  flew  with  furious  pace, 
Or  as  the  god,  more  furious,  urged  the  chase. 
Now  fainting,  sinking,  pale,  the  nymph  appears; 
Now  close  behind,  his  sounding  steps  she  hears  ; 
And  now  his  shadow  reached  her  as  she  run, 
His  shadow  lengthened  by  the  setting  sun  ;• 
And  now  his  shorter  breath,  with  sultry  air, 

i  Diana. 

8  Queen  Anne,  who  was  fond  of  bunting. 


102  WINDSOR  FOREST. 

Pants  on  her  neck,  and  fans  her  parting  hair. 

In  vain  on  Father  Thames  she  calls  for  aid, 

Nor  could  Diana  help  her  injured  maid'.  " 

Faint,  breathless,  thus  she  prayed,  nor  prayed  in  vain; 

"  Ah,  Cynthia !  ah — though  banished  from  thy  train, 

Let  me,  O  let  me,  to  the  shades  repair, 

My  native  shades — there  weep,  and  murmur  there.5' 

She  said,  and  melting  as  in  tears  she  lay, 

In  a  soft,  silver  stream  dissolved  away. 

The  silver  stream  her  virgin  coldness  keeps, 

For  ever  murmurs,  and  forever  weeps ; 

Still  bears  the  name1  the  hapless  virgin  bore, 

And  bathes  the  forest  where  she  ranged  before, 

In  her  chaste  current  oft  the  goddess  laves, 

And  with  celestial  tears  augments  the  waves. 

Oft  in  her  glass2  the  musing  shepherd  spies 

The  headlong  mountains  and  the  downward  skies, 

The  wat'ry  landscape  of  the  pendant  woods, 

And  absent  trees  that  tremble  in  the  floods  ; 

In  the  clear  azure  gleam  the  flocks  are  seen, 

And  floating  forests  paint  the  waves  with  green, 

Through  the  fair  scene  roll  slow  the  ling'ring  streams. 

Then  foaming  pour  along,  and  rush  into  the  Thames. 

Thou,  too,  great  father  of  the  British  floods ! 
With  joyful  pride  survey'st  our  lofty  woods  ; 
Where  tow'ring  oaks  their  growing  honours  rear, 
And  future  navies  on  thy  shores  appear. 
Not  Neptune's  self  from  all  his  streams  receives 
A  wealthier  tribute  than  to  thine  he  gives. 
No  seas  so  rich,  so  gay  no  banks  appear, 
No  lake  so  gentle,  and  no  spring  so  clear. 
Nor  Po  so  swells  the  fabling  poet's  lays, 
While  led  along  the  skies  his  current  strays, 
As  thine,  which  visits  Windsor's  famed  abodes, 
To  grace  the  mansion  of  our  earthly  gods  : 
Nor  all  his  stars  above  a  lustre  show, 
Like  the  bright  beauties  on  thy  banks  below, 
Where  Jove,  subdued  by  mortal  passion  still, 
Might  change  Olympus  for  a  nobler  hill. 

Happy  the  man3  whom  this  bright  court  approves, 

1  The  river  Loddon — Pope. 

2  These  six  lines  were  added  after  the  first  writing  of  this  poem.— 
Pope. 

3  Originally : 

Happy  the  man  who  to  these  shades  retires. 
But  doubly  happy  if  the  Muse  inspires  J 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  103 

His  sovereign  favours,  and  his  country  loves  :l 

Happy  next  him,  who  to  these  shades  retires, 

Whom  nature  charms,  and  whom  the  muse  inspires: 

Whom  humbler  joys  of  home-felt  quiet  please, 

Successive  study,  exercise,  and  ease. 

He  gathers  health  from  herbs  the  forest  yields, 

And  of  their  fragrant  physic  spoils  the  fields  : 

With  chemic  arts  exalts  the  min'ral  pow'rs, 

And  draws  the  aromatic  souls  of  flow'rs : 

Now  marks  the  course  of  rolling  orbs  on  high ; 

O'er  figured  worlds  now  travels  with  his  eye ; 

Of  ancient  writ  unlocks  the  learned  store, 

Consults  the  dead,  and  lives  past  ages  o'er  : 

Or  wand'ring  thoughtful  in  the  silent  wood, 

Attends  the  duties  of  the  wise  and  good, 

T'  observe  a  mean,  be  to  himself  a  friend, 

To  follow  nature,  and  regard  his  end. 

Or  looks  on  heav'n  with  more  than  mortal  eyes, 

Bids  his  free  soul  expatiate  in  the  skies, 

Amid  her  kindred  stars  familiar  roam, 

Survey  the  region,  and  confess  her  home ! 

Such  was  the  life  great  Scipio  once  admired, 

Thus  Atticus,  and  Trumbull,  thus  retired. 

Ye  sacred  Nine !  that  all  my  soul  possess, 
Whose  raptures  fire  me,  and  whose  visions  bless, 
Bear  me,  O  boar  me  to  sequestered  scenes, 
The  bow'ry  iimzes,  and  surrounding  greens  : 
To  Thames's  banks  which  fragrant  breezes  fill, 
Or  where  ye  Muses  sport  on  Cooper's  Hill.2 
(On  Cooper's  Hill  eternal  wreaths  shall  grow, 
While  lasts  the  mountain,  or  while  Thames  shall  flow). 
I  seem  through  consecrated  walks  to  rove, 
I  hear  soft  music  die  along  the  grove  : 
Led  by  the  sound,  I  roam  from  shade  to  shade, 
By  god-like  poets  venerable  made : 
Here  his  first  lays  majestic  Penham  sung;3 


Blest  whom  the  sweets  of  horaefelt  qniet  please  : 
But  far  more  blest,  who  study  joins  with  ease.— Pope. 

1  Lord  Lansdowne. 

2  Cooper's  Hill  is  near  Egham  and  Kunnymede.    Sir  John  Denham 
wrote  a  poem  on  it. 

3  Sir  John  Denham  was  praised  as  a  poet  by  Dryden  also.    He  wroto 
\v_°oper,'s.  Hill.."     He  was  horn  in  Dublin,  where  his  father  was  Chief 
Baron  of  the  Exchequer.   He  was  brought  very  young  to  England,  and 
was  educated  at  Oxford.    He  died         " 


104  WINDSOR  FOREST. 

There  the  last  numbers  flowed  from  Cowley's  tongue.1 
Oh  early  lost !  what  tears  the  river  shed, 
When  the  sad  pomp  along  his  bank  was  led  1 
His  drooping  swans  on  ev'ry  note  expire, 
And  on  his  willows  hung  each  muse's  lyre. 

Since  fate  relentless  stopped  their  heav'nly  voice, 
No  more  the  forests  ring,  or  groves  rejoice; 
Who  now  shall   charm   the   shades  where  Cowlcy 

"strung 

ffis  living-  harp,  and  lofty  Denham  sung? 
But  hark!  the  groves" rejoice,  the  forest  rings! 
Are  these  revived  ?  or  is  it  Graiiville  sings  ? 
'Tis  yours,  my  lord,  to  bless  our  soft  retreats, 
And  call  the  muses  to  their  ancient  seats; 
To  paint  anew  the  flowery  sylvan  scenes, 
To  crown  the  forests  with  immortal  greens, 
Make  Windsor  hills  in  lofty  numbers  rise, 
And  lift  her  turrets  nearer  to  the  skies; 
To  sing  those  honours  you  deserve  to  wear, 
And  add  new  lustre  to  her  silver  star  !2 

Here  noble  Surrey  felt  the  sacred  rage,3 
Surrey,  the  Graiiville  of  a  former  age: 
Matchless  his  pen,  victorious  was  his  lance, 
Bold  in  the  lists,  and  graceful  in  the  dance: 
In  the  same  shades  the  Cupids  tuned  his  lyre, 
To  the  same  notes  of  love,  and  soft  desire: 
Fair  Geraldine,  bright  object  of  his  vow,4 
TJifin  filled  the  groves,  as  heav'nly  Mira  now.5 
/Oh  wouldst  thou  sing  what  heroes  Windsor  bore, 
""hat  kings  first  breathed  upon  her  winding  shore, 


1  Mr.  Cowley  died  at  Chertsey,  on  the  borders  of  the  forest,  and  was 
from  thence  conveyed  to  Westminster.— Pope. 

2  All  the  lines  that  follow  were  not  added  to  the  poem  till  the  next 
year,  1710.    What  immediately  followed  this,  and  made  the  conclusion, 
were  these — 

My  humble  muse  in  unambitious  strains, 
Paints  the  green  forests  and  the  flow'ry  plains ; 
Where  I  obscurely  pass  my  careless  days, 
Pleased  in  the  silent  shade  with  empty  praise, 
Enough  for  me  that  to  the  list'niug  swains 
First  in  these  fields  I  sang  the  sylvan  strains. — Pope. 
The  "silver  star"  is  an  allusion  to  the  Star  of  the  Garter. 

3  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey,  one  of  the  first  refiners  of  the 
English  language;  famous  in  the  time  of  Henry  VIII.  for  his  son- 
nets, the  scene  of  many  of  which  is  laid  at  Windsor. —Pope. 

Surrey  was  beheaded  by  the  tyrant  Henry's  command,  1547. 

4  "Fair  Geraldine,"  the  beloved  of  Surrey,  "was  a  daughter  of 
Gerald  Fitzgerald,  Earl  of  Kildare. 

5  «« Mira  "  was  the  Countess  o£   Newburgh,  the   lady  of  whom 
Granville  sang. 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  105 

Or  raise  old  warriors,  whose  adored  remains 

In  weeping  vaults  her  hallowed  earth  contains ! 

With  Edward's  acts1  adorn  the  shining  page, 

Stretch  his  long  triumphs  down  through  every  age, 

Draw  monarchs  chained,2  and  Crecy's  glorious  field, 

The  lilies  blazing  on  the  regal  shield: 

Then,  from  her  roofs  when  Yerrio's  colours  fall,3 

And  leave  inanimate  the  naked  wall, 

Still  in  thy  song  should  vanquished  prance  appear, 

And  bleed  for  ever  under  Britain's  spear. 

Let  softer  strains  ill-fated  Henry  mourn,4 
And  palms  eternal  flourish  round  his  urn. 
Here  o'er  the  martyr-king  the  marble  weeps, 
And,  fast  beside  him,  once-feared  Edward  sleeps;5 
Whom  not  th'  extended  Albion  could  contain, 
From  old  Belerium6  to  the  northern  main, 
The  grave  unites;  where  ev'n  the  great  find  rest, 
And  blended  lie  th'  oppressor  and  th'  opprest ! 

Make  sacred  Charles's  tomb  for  ever  known7 
(Obscure  the  place,  and  uninscribed  the  stone), 
Oh  fact  accursed !  what  tears  has  Albion  shed, 
Heavens,  what  new  wounds!  and  how  her  old  have 

bled! 

She  saw  her  sons  with  purple  deaths  expire, 
Her  sacred  domes  involved  in  rolling  fire,8 
A  dreadful  series  of  intestine  wars, 
Inglorious  triumphs  and  dishonest  scars. 
At  length  great. Anna  said — "Let  discord  cease!" 
She  said,  the  world  obeyed,  and  all  was  peace ! 

In  that  blest  moment  from  his  oozy  bed 
Old  Father  Thames  advanced  his  rev'rend  head. 
His  tresses  dropped  with  dews,  and  o'er  the  stream9 

1  Edward  III. 

2  David  Bruce,  King  of  Scotland,  and  John,  King  of  France. 

3  Verrio,  a  celebrated  Neapolitan  artist  and  decorator  of  ceiling^, 
staircases,  &c. 

*  Henry  VI. 

5  Edward  IV. 

6  Old  Belerium  is  that  part  of  Cornwall  called  the  Land's  End.    It 
was  so  named  from  Belerus,  a  Cornish  giant. 

7  Charles  I.  was  buried  in  St.  George's  Chapel,  Windsor,  in  the 
vault  of  Henry  VIII. 

8  The  great  plague  and  fire  of  London. 

•  Between  verse  330  and  331  originally  stood  these  lines «. 

From  shore  to  shore  exulting  shouts  he  heard, 
O'er  all  his  banks  a  lambent  light  appeared, 
With  sparkling  llames  heav'n's  glowing  concave  shone, 
•  Fictitious  stars  and  glories  not  her  own. 


106  WINDSOR  FOREST. 

His  shining  horns  diffused  a  golden  gleam  : 
Graved  on  his  urn  appeared  the  moon,  that  guides 
His  swelling  waters  and  alternate  tides  ; 
The  figured  streams  in  waves  of  silver  rolled, 
And  on  their  banks  Augusta1  rose  in  gold. 
Around  his  throne  the  sea-born  brothers  stood, 
Who  swell  with  tributary  urns  his  flood  ; 
First  the  famed  authors  of  his  ancient  name, 
The  winding  Isis,  and  the  fruitful  Thame  : 
The  Kennet  swift,  for  silver  eels  renowned  ; 
The  Loddon  slow,  with  verdant  alders  crowned  ; 
Cole,  whose  dark  'streams  his  flow'ry  islands  lave  ; 
End  chalky  Wey,  that  rolls  a  milky  wave  : 
The  blue,  transparent  Vandalis2  appears ; 
The  Gulfy  Lee  his  sedgy  tresses  rears  ; 
And  sullen  Mole,3  that  hides  his  diving  flood  ; 
And  silent  Darent,  stained  with  Danish  blood. 

High  in  the  midst,  upon  his  urn  reclined 
(His  sea-green  mantle  waving  with  the  wind), 
The  god  appeared  :  he  turned  his  azure  e}res 
Where  Windsor  domes  and  pompous  turrets  rise  ; 
Then  bowed  and  spoke  ;  the  winds  forget  to  roar, 
And  the  hushed  waves  glide  softly  to  the  shore. 

"  Hail  sacred  peace !  hail,  long-expected  days, 
That  Thames's  glory  to  the  stars  shall  raise ! 
Though  Tiber's  streams  immortal  Rome  behold, 
Though  foaming  Hermus  swells  with  tides  of  gold, 
From  heav'n  itself  though  sevenfold  Nilus  flows,4 
And  harvests  on  a  hundred  realms  bestows ; 
These  now  no  more  shall  be  the  muse's  themes, 
Lost  in  my  fame,  as  in  the  sea  their  streams. 
Let  Volga's  banks  with  iron  squadrons  shine; 
And  groves  of  lances  glitter  on  the  Ehine, 
Let  barb'rous  Ganges  arm  a.  servile  train; 
Be  mine  the  blessings  of  a  peaceful  reign. 
.Mo  more  my  sons  snail  aye  witn  ±sritisn  blood 

He  saw,  and  gently  rose  above  the  stream, 
His  shining  horns  diffused  a  golden  gleam ; 
With  pearl  and  gold  his  tow'ring  front  was  drest, 
The  tributes  of  the  distant  East  and  West. — Pope. 

1  London— a  Roman  name  for  it. 

2  The  Wandle. 

»  The  Mole  sometimes  entirely  disappears  between  Burford 
Bridge  and  Thorncroft  Bridge. 

*  Homer  calls  the  Nile  (whose  source  was  so  Ions  unknown)  a  rivet 
that  falls  from  Jupiter  or  heaven, 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  107 

Red  Iber's  sands,  or  Ister's  foaming  flood:1 
Safe_on  my  shore  each  unmolested  swain 
ShaHlend  the  flocks,  or  reap  the  bearded  grain: 
The  shady  empire  shall  retain  no  trace 
Of  war  or  blood,  but  in  the  sylvan  chase; 
The  trumpet  sleep,  while  cheerful  horns  are  blown, 
And  arms  employed  on  birds  and  beasts  alone. 
Behold !  th3  ascending  villas  on  my  side 
Project  long  shadows  o'er  the  crystal  tide. 
Behold !  Augusta's  glittering  spires  increase, 
And  temples  rise,2  the  beauteous  works  of  peace. 
I  see,  I  see,  where  two  fair  cities  bend 
Their  ample  bow,  a  new  Whitehall  ascend ! 
There  mighty  nations  shall  inquire  their  doom, 
The  world's  great j^racle  in  tim^s  to  CQffi^ 
There  kings  shall  sue,  and  suppliant  states  be  seen 
Once  more  to  bend  before  a  British  queen. 

"Thy  trees,  fair  Windsor!  now  shall  leave  therif 

woods, 

And  half  thy  forests  rush  into  thy  floods, 
Bear  Britain's  thunder,  and  her  cross3  display, 
To  the  bright  regions  of  the  rising  day; 
Tempt  icy  seas,  where  scarce  the  waters  roll, 
Where  clearer  flames  glow  round  the  frozen  pole: 
Or  under  southern  skies  exalt  their  sails, 
Led  by  new  stars,  and  borne  by  spicy  gales ! 
For  me  the  balm  shall  bleed,  and  amber  flow, 
The  coral  redden,  and  the  ruby  glow, 
The  pearly  shell  its  lucid  globe  infold, 
And  Phoebus  warm  the  ripening  ore  to  gold. 
The  time  shall  come,  when.frge  as  sea.s.  OT  \\rmrl, 
Unbounded  Thames l  sh; ill  flowTor  all  mankind, 
Whole  nations  enter  with  each  swelling  tide,  "~ 
And  seas  but  join  the  regions  they  divide. 
Earth's  distant "  enftaToiir 'glory  shall  behold, 
And  the  new  world  launch  forth  to  seek  the  old. 
Then  ships  of  uncouth  form  shall  stem  the  tide, 
And  feathered  people  crowd  my  wealthy  side, 
And  naked  youths  and  pamfod  chiefs.  «^™i™^ 
Our  speech; ^  ouiTcolour,  and  our  strange  attire. 

*  He  alludes  to  General  Stanhope's  campaign  on  the  Ebro,  and  the 
Duke  of  Wellington's  on  the  Danube. 

2  The  fifty  new  churches.— Pope. 

3  St.  George's  Cross. 

*  A  wish  that  London  may  be  made  a  free  port.— 


103  WINDSOE  FOEEST. 

Ostretch  thy  reign,  fair  Peace  I  from  shore  to 
Till  conquest  cease,  and  slavery  be  no  more; 
Till  the  freed  Indians  in  their  native  groves 
Reap  their  own  fruits,  and  woo  their  sable  loves, 
Peru  once  more  a  race  of  kings  behold. 
And  other  Mexicos  be  roofed  with  gold. 
Exiled  by  thee  "from  earth  to  deepest  hell, 
In  brazen  bonds  shall  barb'rous  Discord  dwell; 
Gigantic  Pride,  pale  Terror,  gloomy  Care, 
And  madT^mbition,  shall  attend  her  there : 
There  purple  Vengeance  bathecl  in  gore  retires, 
Her  weapons  blunted,  and  extinct  her  fires: 
There  hateM_Envy  her  own  snakes  shall  feel, 
And  Persecution  rnonrn  her  broken  wheel: 
There  Faction  roar,  Rebellion  bite  her  chain, 
And  gasping  Furies  tETrst  tor  blood  in  vain." 

Here  cease  "thy  flight,  nor  with  unhallowed  lays 
Touch  the  fair  fame  of  Albion's  golden  days: 
The  thoughts  of  gods  let  GranviUe's  verse  recite, 
Arid  bring  the  scenes  of  opening  fate  to  light. 
1  My  humble  muse,  in  unambitious  strains, 
/Paints  the  green  forests  and  the  flowery  plains, 
"Where  Peace  descending  bids  her  olives  spring, 
And  scatters  blessings  from  her  dove-like  wing. 
Ev'n  I  more  sweetly  pass  my  careless  days, 
Pleased  in  the  silent  shade  with  empty  praise; 
Enough  for  me,  that  to  the  listening  swains 
First  in  these  fields  I  sung  the  sylvan  strains. 


ELOISA  TO  ABELABD. 

1717. 
ARGUMENT. 

Abelard  and  Eloisa  flourished  in  the  twelfth  century ;  they  were 
two  of  the  most  distinguished  persons  of  their  age  in  learning 
and  beauty,  but  for  nothing  more  famous  than  for  their  unfor- 
tunate passion.  After  a  long  course  of  calamities,  they  retired 
each  to  a  several  convent,  and  consecrated  the  remainder  of 
their  days  to  religion.  It  was  many  years  after  this  separation, 
that  a  letter  of.  Abelard's  to  a  friend,  which  contained  the  history 
of  his  misfortune,  fell  into  the  hands  of  Eloisa.  This  awakening 
all  her  tenderness,  occasioned  those  celebrated  letters  (out  of 
which  the  following  is  partly  extracted)  which  gives  so  lively  a 
'  picture  of  the  struggles  of  grace  and  nature,  virtue  and  passion. 

IN  these  deep  solitudes  and  awful  cells, 
Where  heav'nly-pensive  contemplation  dwells, 
And  ever-musing  melancholy  reigns, 
What  means  this  tumult  in  a  vestal's  veins  ? 
Why  rove  nay  thoughts  beyond  this  last  retreat  ? 
Why  feels  my  heart  its  long-forgotten  heat? 
Yet,  yet  I  love ! — From  Abelard  it  came,1 
And  Eloisa  yet  must  kiss  the  name. 

Dear  fatal  name  !  rest  ever  unrevealed, 
Nor  pass  these  lips  in  holy  silence  sealed: 
Hide  it,  my  heart,  within  that  close  disguise, 
Where  mixed  with  God's,  his  loved  idea  lies: 

0  write  it  not,  my  hand — the  name  appears 
Already  written — wash  it  out,  my  tears ! 

In  vain  lost  Eloisa  weeps  and  prays, 

Her  heart  still  dictates,  and  her  hand  obeys. 

Relentless  walls !  whose  darksome  round  contains 
Repentant  sighs,  and  voluntary  pains: 
Ye  rugged  rocks!  which  holy  knees  have  worn; 
Ye  grots  and  caverns  shagged  with  horrid  thorn ! 
Shrines  where  their  vigils  pale-eyed  virgins  keep, 
And  pitying  saints,  whose  statues  learn  to  weep ! 
Though  cold  like  you,  unmoved  and  silent  grown, 

1  have  not  yet  forgot  myself  to  stone. 

1  She  is  supposed  to  have  seen  a  letter  from  Abelard  to  a  friend. 


110  ELOlSA  TO  ABELAED. 

All  is  not  Heaven's  while  Abelard  has  part, 
Still  rebel  nature  holds  out  half  my  heart: 
Nor  pray'rs  nor  fasts  its  stubborn  pulse  restrain, 
Nor  tears  for  ages  taught  to  now  in  vain. 

Soon  as  thy  letters  trembling  I  unclose, 
That  well-known  name  awakens  all  my  woes. 
Oh  name  for  ever  sad!  for  ever  dear! 
Still  breathed  in  sighs,  still  ushered  with  a  tear, 
I  tremble  too,  where'er  my  own  I  find, 
Some  dire  misfortune  follows  close  behind. 
Line  after  line  my  gushing  eyes  overflow, 
Led  through  a  sad  variety  of  woe: 
Now  warm  in  love,  now  with'ring  in  my  bloom, 
Lost  in  a  convent's  solitary  gloom ! 
There  stern  religion  quenched  th'  unwilling  flame. 
There  died  the  best  of  passions,  love  and  fame. 

Yet  write,  oh  write  me  all,  that  I  may  join 
Griefs  to  thy  griefs,  and  echo  sighs  to  thine. 
Nor  foes  nor  fortune  take  this  pow'r  away; 
And  is  my  Abelard  less  kind  than  they  ? 
Tears  still  are  mine,  and  those  I  need  not  spare, 
Love  but  demands  what  else  were  shed  in  pray'r; 
No  happier  task  these  faded  eyes  pursue; 
To  read  and  weep  is  all  they  now  can  do. 

Then  share  thy  pain  allow  that  sad  relief; 
Ah,  more  than  share  it,  give  me  all  thy  grief. 
Heav'ii  first  taught  letters  for  some  wretch's  aid, 
Some  banished  lover,  or  some  captive  maid; 
They  live,  they  speak,  they  breathe  what  love  inspires, 
Warm  from  the  soul,  and  faithful  to  its  fires, 
The  virgin's  wish  without  her  fears  impart, 
Excuse  the  blush,  and  pour  out  all  the  heart, 
Speed  the  soft  intercourse  from  soul  to  soul, 
Aid  waft  a  sigh  from  Indus  to  the  Pole. 

Thou  knowest  how  guiltless  first  I  met  thy  flame, 
When  loves  approached  me  under  friendship's  name: 
My  fancy  formed  thee  of  angelic  kind, 
Some  emanation  of  th'  all-beauteous  Mind. 
Those  smiling  eyes,  attemp  ring  ev'ry  ray, 
Shone  sweetly  lambent  with  celestial  day. 
Guiltless  I  gazed;  heav'n  listened  while  you  sung; 
And  truths  divine  came  mended  from  that  tongu  \ 
From  lips  like  those,  what  precept  failed  to  movo  ? 
Too  soon  they  taught  me  'twas  no  sin  to  love: 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD.  Ill 

Back  through  the  paths  of  pleasing  sense  I  ran, 
Nor  wished  an  angel  whom  I  loved  a  man. 
Dim  and  remote  the  joys  of  saints  I  see; 
Nor  envy  them  that  heav'n  I  lose  for  thee. 

How  oft,  when  pressed  to  marriage,  have  I  said, 
Curse  on  all  laws  but  those  which  love  has  made  ? 
Love,  free  as  air,  at  sight  of  human  ties, 
Spreads  his  light  wings,  and  in  a  moment  flies. 
Let  wealth,  let  honour,  wait  the  wedded  dame, 
August  her  deed,  and  sacred  be  her  fame; 
Before  true  passion  all  those  views  remove, 
Fame,  wealth,  and  honour!  what' are  you  to  Love? 
The  jealous  god,  when  we  profane  his  fires, 
Those  restless  passions  in  revenge  inspires, 
And  bids  them  make  mistaken  mortals  groan, 
Who  seek  in  love  for  aught  but  love  alone. 
Should  at  my  feet  the  world's  great  master  fall, 
Himself,  his  throne,  his  world,  I'd  scorn  them  all: 
Not  Csesar's  empress  would  I  deign  to  prove; 
No,  make  me  mistress  to  the  man  I  love : 
If  there  be  yet  another  name  more  free, 
More  fond  than  mistress,  make  me  that  to  thee ! 
Oh !  happy  state !  when  souls  each  other  draw, 
When  love  is  liberty,  and  nature  law: 
AH  then  is  full,  possessing  and  possessed, 
No  craving  void  left  aching  in  the  breast: 
Ev'n  thought  meets  thought,  ere  from  the  lips  it  part, 
And  each  warm  wish  springs  mutual  from  the  heart. 
This  sure  is  bliss  (if  bliss  on  earth  there  be) 
And  once  the  lot  of  Abelard  and  me. 

Alas,  how  changed !  what  sudden  horrors  rise ! 
A  naked  lover  bound  and  bleeding  lies ! 
Where,  where  was  Eloise  ?  her  voice,  her  hand, 
Her  poniard,  had  opposed  the  dire  command. 
Barbarian,  stay!  that  bloody  stroke  restrain; 
The  crime  was  common,  common  be  the  pain. 
I  can  no  more;  by  shame,  by  rage  suppressed, 
Let  tears,  and  burning  blushes  speak  the  rest. 

Canst  thou  forget  that  sad,  that  solemn  day, 
When  victims  at  yon  altar's  foot  we  lay  ? 
Canst  thou  forget  what  tears  that  moment  fell, 
When,  warm  in  youth,  I  bade  the  world  farewell  ? 
As  with  cold  lips  I  kissed  the  sacred  veil, 
The  shrines  all  trembled,  and  the  lamps  grew  pale: 


112  ELOSIA  TO  ABELAED; 

Heav'n  scarce  believed  the  conquest  it  surveyed, 

And  saints  with  wonder  heard  the  vows  I  made. 

Yet  then,  to  those  dread  altars  as  I  drew, 

Not  on  the  cross  my  eyes  were  fixed,  but  you; 

Not  grace,  or  zeal,  love  only  was  my  call, 

And  if  I  lose  thy  love,  I  lose  my  all. 

Come!  with  thy  looks,  thy  words,  relieve  my  woe; 

Those  still  at  least  are  left  thee  to  bestowi 

Still  on  that  breast  enamoured  let  me  he, 

Still  drink  delicious  poison  from  thy  eye, 

Pant  on  thy  lip,  and  to  that  heart  be  pressed; 

Give  ah1  thou  canst — and  let  me  dream  the  rest. 

Ah,  no  !  instruct  me  other  joys  to  prize, 

With  other  beauties  charm  my  partial  eyes, 

Full  in  my  view  set  ah1  the  bright  abode, 

And  make  my  soul  quit  Abelard  for  God. 

Ah,  think  at  least  thy  flock  deserves  thy  care, 
Plants  of  thy  hand,  and  children  of  thy  pray'r. 
From  the  false  world  in  early  youth  they  fled, 
By  thee  to  mountains,  wilds,  and  deserts  led. 
You  raised  these  hallowed  walls;1  the  desert  smiled, 
And  paradise  was  opened  in  the  wild. 
No*  weeping  orphan  saw  his  father's  stores 
Our  shrines  irradiate,  or  emblaze  the  floors; 
No  silver  saints,  by  dying  miser's  giv'n, 
Here  bribed  the  rage  of  ill-requited  heav'n; 
But  such  plain  roofs  as  piety  could  raise, 
And  only  vocal  with  the  Maker's  praise. 
In  these  lone  walls  (their  days'  eternal  bound) 
These  moss-grown  domes  with  spiry  turrets  crowned, 
Where  awful  arches  make  a  noonday  night, 
And  the  dim  windows  shed  a  solemn  light; 
Thy  eyes  diffused  a  reconciling  ray, 
And  gleams  of  glory  brightened  all  the  day. 
But  now  no  face  divine  contentment  wears, 
'Tis~all  blank  sadness,  or  continual  tears. 
See  how  the  force  of  others'  pray'rs  I  try, 
(O  pious  fraud  of  am'rous  charity!) 
But  why  should  I  on  others'  pray'rs  depend  ? 
Come  thou,  my  father,  brother,  husband,  friend ! 
All,  let  thy  handmaid,  sister,  daughter  move, 
And  all  those  tender  names  in  one,  thy  love ! 

*  He  founded  the  monastery.— Pope. 


ELOlSA  TO  ABELAED.  113 

The  darksome  pines  that  o'er  yon  rocks  reclined 
Wave  high,  and  murmur  to  the  hollow  wind, 
The  wand'ring  streams  that  shine  between  the 
The  grots  that  echo  to  the  the  tinkling  rills, 
The  dying  gales  that  pant  upon  the  trees, 
The  lakes  that  quiver  to  the  curling  breeze; 
No  more  these  scenes  my  meditation  aid, 
Or  lull  to  rest  the  visionary  maid. 
But  o'er  the  twilight  groves  and  dusky  caves, 
Long-sounding  aisles,  and  intermingled  graves, 
Black  Melancholy  sits,  and  round  her  throws 
A  death-like  silence.,  and  a  dread  repose: 
Her  gloomy  presence  saddens  all  the  scene, 
Shades  ev'ry  flow'r,  and  darkens  ev'ry  green, 
Deepens  the  murmur  of  the  falling  floods, 
And  breathes  a  browner  horror  on  the  woods. 

Yet  here  for  ever,  ever  must  I  stay; 
Sad  proof  how  well  a  lover  can  obey ! 
Death,  only  death,  can  break  the  lasting  chain: 
And  here,  ev'n  then,  shah1  my  cold  dust  remain, 
Here  all  its  frailties,  all  its  flames  resign, 
And  wait  till  'tis  no  sin  to  mix  with  thine. 

Ah,  wretch !  believed  the  spouse  of  God  in  vain. 
Confessed  within  the  slave  of  love  and  man. 
Assist  me,  heav'n!  but  whence  arose  that  pray'r? 
Sprung  it  from  piety,  or  from  despair  ? 
Ev'n  here,  where  frozen  chastity  retires, 
Love  finds  an  altar  for  forbidden  fires. 
I  ought  to  grieve,  but  cannot  what  I  ought: 
I  mourn  the  lover  not  lament  the  fault; 
I  view  my  crime,  but  kindle  at  the  view, 
Eepent  old  pleasures,  and  solicit  new; 
Now  turned  to  heav'n,  I  weep  my  past  offence, 
Now  think  of  thee  and  curse  my  innocence. 
Of  ah1  affliction  taught  a  lover  yet?, 
Tis  sure  the  hardest  science  to  forget: 
How  shall  I  lose  the  sin,  yet  keep  the  sense, 
And  love  the  offender,  yet  detest  th'  offence  ? 
How  the  dear  object  from  the  crime  remove, 
Or  how  distinguish  penitence  from  love  ? 
Unequal  task !  a  passion  to  resign, 
For  hearts  foo  touched,  so  pierced,  so  lost  as  mine. 
Ere  such  a  soul  regains  its  peaceful  state, 
JIow  often  must  it  love,  how  often  hate ! 


114  ELOISA  TO  ABELAED. 

How  often  hope,  despair,  resent,  regret, 
Conceal,  disdain, — do  all  things  but  forget. 
But  let  heav'n  seize  it,  all  at  once  'tis  fired; 
Not  touched,  but  wrapt;  not  wakened,  but  inspired! 
Oh,  come !  oh,  teach  me  nature  to  subdue, 
Eenounce  my  love,  my  life,  myself — and  you. 
Fill  my  fond  heart  with  God  alone,  for  he 
Alone  can  rival,  can  succeed  to  thee. 

How  happy  is  the  blameless  Vestal's  lot ! 
The  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot: 
Eternal  sunshine  of  the  spotless  mind ! 
Each  pray'r  accepted,  and  each  wish  resigned; 
Labour  and  rest,  the  equal  periods  keep: 
"  Obedient  slumbers  that  can  wake  and  weep;"1 
Desires  composed,  affections  ever  even: 
Tears  that  delight,  and  sighs  that  waft  to  heav'n. 
Grace  shines  around  her  with  serenest  beams, 
And  whisp'ring  angels  prompt  her  golden  dreams. 
For  her  th'  unfading  rose  of  Eden  blooms, 
And  wings  of  seraphs  shed  divine  perfumes, 
For  her  the  spouse  prepares  the  bridal  ring, 
For  her  white  virgins  hymensels  sing, 
To  sounds  of  heav'nly  harps  she  dies  away, 
And  melts  in  visions  of  eternal  day. 

Far  other  dreams  my  erring  soul  employ, 
Far  other  raptures,  of  unholy  joy; 
When  at  the  close  of  each  sad,  sorrowing  day, 
Fancy  restores  what  vengeance  snatched  away. 
Then  conscience  sleeps,  and  leaving  nature  free, 
All  my  loose  soul  unbounded  springs  to  thee. 
Oh  curst,  dear  horrors  of  all-conscious  night; 
How  glowing  guilt  exalts  the  keen  delight ! 
Provoking  demons  ah1  restraint  remove, 
And  stir  within  me  every  source  of  love. 
I  hear  thee,  view  thee,  gaze  o'er  all  thy  charms, 
And  round  thy  phantom  glue  my  clasping  arms. 
I  wake: — no  more  I  hear,  no  more  I  view, 
The  phantom  flies  me,  as  unkind  as  you. 
I  call  aloud;  it  hears  not  what  I  say: 
I  stretch  my  empty  arms;  it  glides  away. 
To  dream  once  more  I  close  my  willing  eyes; 
Ye  soft  illusions,  dear  deceits,  arise ! 

l  Taken  from  Crashaw.— Pope. 


ELQtSA  TO  ABELARD.  115 

Alas,  no  more !  methinks  we  wand'ring  go 
Through  dreary  wastes,  and  weep  each  other's  woe, 
Where  round  some  mould'ring  tower  pale  ivy  creeps, 
And  low-browed  rocks  hang  nodding  o'er  the  deeps, 
Sudden  you  mount,  you  beckon  from  the  skies; 
Clouds  interpose,  waves  roar,  and  winds  arise. 
I  shriek,  start  up,  the  same  sad  prospect  find, 
And  wake  to  all  the  griefs  I  left  behind. 

For  thee  the  fates,  severely  kind,  ordain 
A  cool  suspense  from  pleasure  and  from  pain; 
Thy  life  a  long  dead  calm  of  fixed  repose; 
No  pulse  that  riots,  and  no  blood  that  glows, 
Still  as  the  sea,  ere  winds  were  taught  to  blow, 
Or  moving  spirit  bade  the  waters  flow; 
Soft  as  the  slumbers  of  a  saint  forgiv'n, 
And  mild  as  op'ning  gleams  of  promised  heav'n. 

Come,  Abelard !  for  what  has  thou  to  dread  ? 
The  torch  of  Yenus  burns  not  for  the  dead, 
Nature  stands  checked;  religion  disproves; 
Even  thou  art  cold — yet  Eloisa  loves. 
Ah,  hopeless,  lasting  flames !  like  those  that  burn 
To  light  the  dead,  and  warm  th'  unfriutful  urn. 

What  scenes  appear  where'er  I  turn  my  view ! 
The  dear  ideas,  where  I  fly,  pursue, 
Rise  in  the  grove,  before  the  altar  rise, 
Stain  all  my  soul,  and  wanton  in  my  eyes. 
I  waste  the  matin  lamp  in  sighs  for  thee, 
Thy  image  steals  between  my  God  and  me, 
Thy  voice  I  seem  in  ev'ry  hymn  to  hear, 
With  ev'ry  bead  I  drop  too  soft  a  tear. 
When  from  the  censer  clouds  of  fragrance  roll, 
And  swelling  organs  lift  the  rising  soul, 
One  thought  of  thee  puts  all  the  pomp  to  flight, 
Priests,  tapers,  temples,  swim  before  iny  sight: 
In  seas  of  flame  my  plunging  soul  is  drowned, 
While  altars  blaze,  and  angels  tremble  round. 

While  prostrate  here  in  humble  grief  I  lie, 
Kind,  virtuous  drops  just  gath'ring  in  my  eye, 
While  praying,  trembling,  in  the  dust  I  roll, 
And  dawning  grace  is  op'ning  on  my  soul: 
Come,  if  thou  dar'st,  all  charming  as  thou  art ! 
Oppose  thyself  to  heav'n;  dispute  my  heart; 
Come,  with  one  glance  of  those  deluding  eyes 
Blot  out  each  bright  idea  of  the  skies; 


116  ELOlSA  TO  ABELAED. 

Take  back  that  grace,  those  sorrows,  and  those  tears; 
Take  back  my  friutless  penitence  and  pray'rs; 
Snatch  me,  just  mounting,  from  the  blest  abode; 
Assist  the  fiends,  and  tear  me  from  my  God ! 

No,  fly  me,  fly  me,  far  as  pole  from  pole; 
Rise  Alps  between  us !  and  whole  oceans  roll ! 
Ah,  come  not,  write  not,  think  not  once  of  me, 
Nor  share  one  pang  of  all  I  felt  for  thee. 
Thy  oaths  I  quit,  thy  memory  resign; 
Forget,  renounce  me,  hate  whate'er  was  mine. 
Fair  eyes,  and  tempting  looks  (which  yet  I  view !) 
Long  loved,  adored  ideas,  all  adieu ! 
Oh  grace  serene!  oh  virtue  heav'nly  fair! 
Divine  oblivion  of  low-thoughted  care ! 
Fresh  blooming  hope,  gay  danghter  of  the  sky! 
And  faith,  our  early  immortality ! 
Enter,  each  mild,  each  amicable  guest; 
Receive,  and  wrap  me  in  eternal  rest ! 

See  in  her  cell  sad  Elo'isa  spread, 
Propt  on  some  tomb,  a  neighbour  of  the  dead. 
In  each  low  wind  methinks     spirit  calls, 
And  more  than  echoes  talk  along  the  walls. 
Here,  as  I  watched  the  dying  lamps  around, 
From  yonder  shrine  I  heard  a  hollow  sound. 
"  Come,  sister,  come !  (it  said,  or  seemed  to  say) 
Thy  place  is  here,  sad  sister,  come  away ! 
Once  like  thy  self,  I  trembled,  wept,  and  prayed, 
Love's  victim  then,  though  now  a  sainted  maid: 
But  all  is  calm  in  this  eternal  sleep; 
Here  grief  forgets  to  groan,  and  love  to  weep. 
Even  superstition  loses  every  fear: 
For  God,  not  man,  absolves  our  frailities  here." 

I  come,  I  come,  prepare  your  roseate  bow'rs, 
Celestial  palms,  and  ever-blooming  flow'rs. 
Thither,  where  sinners  may  have  rest,  I  go, 
Where  flames  refined  in  breasts  seraphic  glow 
Thou,  Abelard !  the  last  sad  office  pay; 
And  smooth  my  passage  to  the  realms  of  day: 
See,  my  lips  tremble,  and  my  eyeballs  roll, 
Suck  my  last  breath,  and  catch  my  flying  soul ! 
Ah  no — in  sacred  vestments  mayest  thou  stand, 
The  hallowed  taper  trembling  in  thy  hand, 
Present  the  cross  before  my  lifted  eye, 
Teach  me  at  once,  and  learn  of  me  to  die. 


ELOlSA  TO  ABELARD.  117 

Ah  then,  thy  once-loved  Eloisa  see ! 
It  will  be  then  no  crime  to  gaze  on  me. 
See  from  my  cheek  the  transient  roses  fly ! 
See  the  last  sparkle  languish  in  my  eye ! 
Till  ev'ry  motion,  pulse,  and  breath  be  o'er; 
And  even  my  Abelard  be  loved  no  more. 
O  death  all-eloquent !  you  only  prove 
What  dust  we  dote  on,  when  'tis  man  we  love. 

Then,  too,  when  fate  shall  thy  fair  frame  destroy, 
(That  cause  of  all  my  guilt,  and  all  my  joy) 
In  trance  ecstatic  may  thy  pangs  be  drowned, 
Bright  clouds  descend,  and  angels  watch  thee  round, 
From  opening  skies  may  streaming  glories  shine. 
And  saints  embrace  thee  with  a  love  like  mine. 

May  one  kind  grave  unite  each  hapless  name,1 
And  graft  my  love  immortal  on  thy  fame ! 
Then,  ages  hence,  when  all  my  woes  are  o  er, 
When  this  rebellious  heart  shall  beat  no  more; 
If  ever  chance  two  wand'ring  lovers  brings 
To  Paraclete's  white  walls  and  silver  springs, 
O'er  the  pale  marble  shall  they  join  their  heads, 
And  drink  the  falling  tears  each  other  sheds; 
Then  sadly  say,  with  mutual  pity  moved, 
"  Oh,  may  we  never  love  as  these  have  loved  1" 
From  the  full  choir  when  loud  hosannas  rise, 
And  swell  the  pomp  of  dreadful  sacrifice, 
Amid  fchat  scene  if  some  relenting  eye 
Glance  on  the  stone  where  our  cold  relics  lie, 
Devotion's  self  shall  steal  a  thought  from  heav'n, 
One  human  tear  shall  drop  and  be  forgiv'n. 
And  sure,  if  fate  some  future  bard  shall  join 
In  sad  similitude  of  griefs  to  mine, 
Condemned  whole  years  in  absence  to  deplore, 
And  image  charms  he  must  behold  no  more; 
Such  if  there  be,  who  loves  so  long,  so  well; 
Let  him  our  sad,  our  tender  story  tell ! 
The  well-sung  woes  will  soothe  my  pensive  ghost; 
He  best  can  paint  them  who  shall  feel  them  most. 

1  Abelard  and  Eloisa  were  interred  in  the  same  grave,  or  in  monu- 
ments adjoining,  in  the  monastery  of  the  Paraclete :  he  died  in  the 
year  1U2,  she  in  1163.— Pope. 


THE  DUNCIAD. 

1727. 

j£he  "Dunciad  "  was  published  first  in  Dublin  with  a  humorous 
frontispiece  representing  an  ass  laden  with  books.  This  was  suc- 
ceeded by  another  edition,  also  printed  in  Dublin,  with  an  owl,  &c. 
Its  being  published  in  Dublin  was  probably  a  contrivance  between 
Swift  and  Pope. 

Pompous  notes  under  the  assumed  characters  of  various  authors 
were  added.  Most  of  these  were  written  by  Arbuthnot.  Pope  writes 
thus  to  Swift  on  the  subject : — 

"The 'Dunciad' is  going  to  be  printed  with  all  pomp  with  the 
inscription  which  makes  me  proudest  (to  Swift).  It  will  be  attended 
with  Proeme,  Prolegomena,  Testimonia  Scriptorum,  Index  Autho- 
rum  and  Notes  Variorum.  As  to  the  latter,  I  desire  you  will  read 
over  the  text  and  make  a  few  in  any  way  you  like  best;  whether  dry 
raillery  upon  the  style  and  way  of  commentary  of  trivial  critics :  or 
humorous  upon  the  authors  of  the  poem;  or  historical  of  persons, 
places,  times,  or  explanatory,  or  collecting  the  parallel  passages  of 
the  ancients." 

These  curious  notes  were  thought  by  many  people  at  the  time  to 
have  been  written  in  earnest.  Some  few  of  them  have  been  omitted 
in  this  edition.  A  P.  will  be  put  to  all  those  retained.  In  the  Ap- 
pendix will  be  found  "  A  Letter  to  the  Publisher,"  and  "  Martinua 
Scriblerus — his  Prolegomena  and  Illustrations  to  the  '  Dunciad/ 
Testimonies  of  Authors,  Hypercritics  of  Aristarchus,"  &c.,  &c. 


PBEFACE 

PBEFIXED  TO  THE  FIVE  FIRST  EDITIONS  OF  THE  DUNCIAD. 

THE  PUBLISHER1  TO  THE  HEADER. 

IT  will  be  found  a  true  observation,  though  somewhat  sur- 
prising, that  when  any  scandal  is  vented  against  a  man  of  the 

1  Who  he  was  is  uncertain;  but  Edward  Ward  tells  us,  in  his  pre- 
face to  "  Durgen,"  "  that  most  judges  are  of  opinion  this  preface  is 
not  of  English  extraction,  but  Hibernian,"  &c.  He  means  it  was 
written  by  Dr.  Swift,  who,  whether  publisher  or  not,  may  be  said  in 
a  sort  to  be  author  of  the  poem.  For  when  he,  together  with  Mr. 
Pope  (for  reasons  specified  in  the  preface  to  thejr  miscellanies)  de- 
termined to  own  the  most  trifling  pieces  in  which  they  had  any 
hand,  and  to  destroy  all  that  remained  in  their  power ;  the  first 
sketch  of  this  poem  was  snatched  from  the  fire  by  Dr.  Swift,  who 
persuaded  his  friend  to  proceed  in  it,  and  to  him  it  was  therefore 
inscribed.  But  the  occasion  of  printing  it  was  as  follows  :— 

There  was  published  in  those  miscellanies  a  treatise  of  the  Bathos, 
or  Art  of  Sinking  in  Poetry,  in  which  was  a  chapter,  where  the 
species  of  bad  writers  were  ranged  in  classes,  and  initial  letters  of 
names  prefixed,  for  the  most  part  at  random.  But  such  was  the 
number  of  poets  eminent  in  that  art,  that  some  one  or  other  took 
©very  letter  to  himself.  All  fell  into  so  violent  a  fury,  that  for  half 


THE  DVNCIAD.  119 

highest  distinction  and  character,  either  in  the  state  or  in  lit- 
erature, the  public  in  general  afford  it  a  most  quiet  reception ; 
and  the  larger  part  accept  it  as  favQurably  as  if  it  were  some 
kindness  done  to  themselves :  whereas,  if  a  known  scoundrel 
or  blockhead  but  chance  to  be  touched  upon,  a  whole  legion 
is  up  in  arms,  and  it  becomes  the  common  cause  of  all  scrib- 
blers, booksellers,  and  printers  whatsoever. 

Not  to  search  too  deeply  into  the  reason  hereof,  I  will  only 
observe  as  a  fact,  that  every  week  for  these  two  months  past, 
the  town  has  been  persecuted  with  pamphlets,  advertisements, 
letters,  and  weekly  essays,  not  only  against  the  wit  and  writ- 
ings, but  against  the  character  and  person  of  Mr.  Pope.  And 
that  of  all  those  men  w^ho  have  received  pleasure  from  his 
works,  which  by  modest  computation  may  be  about  a  hun- 
dred thousand1  in  these  kingdoms  of  England  and  Ireland ; 
(not  to  mention  Jersey,  Guernsey,  the  Orcades,  those  in  the 
new  world  and  foreigners,  who  have  translated  him  into  their 
languages),  of  all  this  number  not  a  man  hath  stood  up  to  say 
one  word  in  his  defence. 

The  only  exception  is  the  author  of  the  following  poem,2 
who  doubtless  had  either  a  better  insight  into  the  grounds  of 
this  clamour,  or  a  better  opinion  of  Mr.  Pope's  integrity, 
joined  with  a  greater  personal  love  for  him,  than  any  other  of 
his  numerous  friends  and  admirers. 

Farther,  that  he  was  in  his  peculiar  intimacy,  appears  from 
the  knowledge  he  manifests  of  the  most  private  authors  of  all 
the  anonymous  pieces  against  him,  and  from  his  having  in 
this  poem  attacked  no  man  living,  who  had  not  before  print- 
ed, or  published,  some  scandal  against  this  gentleman. 

a  year  or  more,  the  common  newspapers  (in  most  of  which  they  had 
some  property,  as  being  hired  wtiters)  were  filled  with  the  most 
abusive  falsehoods  and  scurrilities  they  could  possibly  devise ;  a 
liberty  no  ways  to  be  wondered  at  in  those  people,  and  in  those 
papers,  that  for  many  years,  during  the  uncontrolled  license  of  the 
press,  had  aspersed  almost  all  the  great  characters  of  the  age ;  and 
this  with  impunity,  their  own  persons  and  names  being  utterly 
secret  and  obscure.  This  gave  Mr.  Pope  the  thought  that  he  had 
now  some  opportunity  of  doing  good,  by  detecting  and  dragging  into 
light  these  common  enemies  of  mankind ;  since  to  invalidate  this 
universal  slander,  it  sufficed  to  show  what  contemptible  men  were 
the  authors  of  it.  He  was  not  without  hopes,  that  by  manifesting 
the  dulness  of  those  who  had  only  malice  to  recommend  them ; 
either  the  booksellers  would  not  find  their  account  in  employing 
them,  or  the  men  themselves,  when  discovered,  want  courage  to 
proceed  in  so  unlawful  an  occupation.  This  it  was  that  gave  birth 
to  the  "Dunciad;  "  and  he  thought  it  a  happiness  that,  by  the  late 
flood  of  slander  on  himself,  he  had  acquired  such  a  peculiar  right 
over  their  names  as  was  necessary  to  his  design.  P. 

1  It  is  suprising  with  what  stupidity  this  preface,  which  is  almost 
a  continued  irony,  was  taken  by  those  authors.  All  such  passages 
as  these  were  understood  by  Curl,  Cook,  Cibber,  and  others,  to  be 
serious.  Hear  the  Laureate  (Letter  to  Mr.  Pope,  p.  9) ; — "  Though  I 
grant  the  'Dunciad  '  a  better  poem  of  its  kind  than  ever  was  writ; 
yet  when  I  read  it  with  those  vain-glorious  encumbrances  of  notes 
and  remaks  upon  it,  &c.,  it  is  amazing  that  you,  who  have  writ  with 
such  masterly  spirit  upon  the  ruling  passion,  should  be  so  blind  a 
slave  to  your  own,  as  not  to  see  how  far  a  low  avarice  of  praise,"  &c. 
(taking  it  for  granted  that  the  notes  of  Scriblerus  and  others  were  the 
author's  own).  P. 

a  A  very  plain  irony,  speaking  of  Mr.  Pope  himself.  & 


120  THE  DUNCIAD. 

How  I  came  possessed  of  it,  is  no  concern  to  the  reader  • 
but  it  would  have  been  a  wrong  to  him  had  I  detained  the 
publication ;  since  those  names  which  are  its  chief  ornaments 
die  off  daily  so  fast,  as  must  render  it  too  soon  unintelligible. 
If  it  provoke  the  author  to  give  'us  a  more  perfect  edition,  I 
have  my  end. 

Who  he  is  I  cannot  say,  and  (which  is  a  great  pity)  there  is 
certainly  nothing  in  his  style  and  manner  of  writing,  which 
can  distinguish  or  discover  him ;  for  if  it  bears  any  resem- 
blance to  that  of  Mr.  Pope,  'tis  not  improbable  that  it  might 
be  done  on  purpose,  with  a  view  to  have  it  pass  for  his.  But 
by  the  frequency  of  his  allusions  to  Virgil,  and  a  laboured  (not 
to  say  affected)  shortness  in  imitation  of  him,  I  should  think 
him  more  an  admirer  of  the  Roman  poet  than  of  the  Grecian, 
and  in  that  not  of  the  same  taste  with  his  friend. 

I  have  been  well  informed,  that  this  work  was  the  labour  of 
full  six  years1  of  his  life,  and  that  he  wholly  retired  himself 
from  all  the  avocations  and  pleasures  of  the  world,  to  attend 
diligently  to  its  correction  and  perfection  ;  and  six  years  more 
he  intended  to  bestow  upon  it,  as  it  should  seem  by  this  verse 
of  Statius,2  which  was  cited  at  the  head  of  his  manuscript : — 

Oh  mihi  bissenos  multum  vigilata  per  annos, 
D  uncial 

Hence  also  we  learn  the  true  title  of  the  poem ;  which  with 
the  same  certainty  as  we  call  that  of  Homer  the  Iliad,  of  Vir- 
gil the  ^Eneid,  of  Camoens  the  Lusiad,  we  may  pronounce, 
could  have  been,  and  can  be  no  other  than 


THE  DUNCIAD. 

It  is  styled  heroic,  as  being  doubly  so;  not  only  with  respect 
to  its  nature,  which,  according  to  the  best  rules  oi  the  ancients, 
and  strictest  ideas  of  the  moderns,  is  critically  such;  but  also 
with  regard  to  the  heroical  disposition  and  high  courage  of 
the  writer,  who  dared  to  stir  up  such  a  formidable,  irritable, 
and  implacable  race  of  mortals. 

There  may  arise  some  obscurity  in  chronology  from  the 
names  in  the  poem,  by  the  inevitable  removal  of  some  authors, 
and  insertion  of  others,  in  their  niches.  For  whoever  will 
consider  the  unity  of  the  whole  design  will  be  sensible,  that 
the  poem  was  not  made  for  these  authors,  but  these  authors  for 
the  poem.  I  should  judge  that  they  were  clapped  in  as  they 
rose,  fresh  and  fresh,  and  changed  from  day  to  day;  in  like 
manner  as  when  the  old  boughs  wither,  we  thrust  new  ones 
into  a  chimney. 

I  would  not  have  the  reader  too  much  troubled  or  anxious, 
if  he  cannot  decipher  them;  since  when  he  shall  have  found 
them  out,  he  will  probably  know  no  more  of  the  persons  than 
before. 

1  Of  course  an  ironical  statement. — Pope. 

2  It  was  actually  believed  at  the  time  that  this  verse  was  by  Statiua. 
—Pope. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  121 

Yet  we  judge  it  better  to  preserve  them  as  they  are,  than  to 
change  them  for  fictitious  names;  by  which  the  satire  would 
only  be  multiplied,  and  applied  to  many  instead  of  one.  Had 
the  hero,  for  instance,  been  called  Codrus,  how  many  would 
have  affirmed  him  to  have  been  Mr.  T.,  Mr.  E.,  Sir.  R.  B., 
&c.,  but  now  all  that  unjust  scandal  is  saved  by  calling  him 
by  a  name,  which  by  good  luck  happens  to  be  that  of  a  real 
person. 

BY  AUTHORITY. 

By  virtue  of  the  authority  in  us  vested  by  the  act  for  sub- 
jecting poets  to  the  power  of  a  licenser,  we  have  revised  this 
piece;  where  finding  the  style  and  appellation  of  king  to 
have  been  given  to  a  certain  pretender,  pseudo-poet,  or 
phantom,  of  the  name  of  Tibbald;  and  apprehending  the 
same  may  be  deemed  in  some  sort  a  reflection  on  majesty,  or 
at  least  an  insult  on  that  legal  authority  which  has  bestowed 
on  another  person  the  crown  of  poesy:  We  have  ordered  the 
said  pretender,  pseudo-poet,  or  phantom,  utterly  to  vanish  and 
evaporate  out  of  this  work:  And  do  declare  the  said  throne 
of  poesy  from  henceforth  to  be  abdicated  and  vacant,  unless 
duly  and  lawfully  supplied  by  the  laureate  himself.  And 
it  is  hereby  enacted,  that  no  other  person  do  presume  to  fill 
the  same.  QO.  Ch. 


THE  DUNCIAD. 

TO  DR.  JONATHAN  SWIFT. 
BOOK  THE  FIBST. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE  proposition,  the  invocation,  and  the  inscription.  Then  the  original 
of  the  great  empire  of  Dulriess,  and  cause  of  the  continuance 
thereof.  The  college  of  the  goddess  in  the  city,  with  her  private 
academy  for  poets  in  particular;  the  governors  of  it.  and  the  four 
cardinal  virtues.  Then  the  poem  hastes  into  the  midst  of  things, 
presenting  her,  on  the  evening  of  a  Lord  Mayor's  day,  revolving 
the  long  succession  of  her  sons,  and  the  glories  past  ana  to  come. 
She  fixes  her  eye  on  Bays  to  he  the  instrument  of  the  great  event 
which  is  the  subject  of  the  poem.  He  is  described  pensive  among 
his  books,  giving  up  the  cause,  and  apprehending  the  period  of  her 
empire.  After  debating  whether  to  betake  himself  to  the  church, 
or  to  gaming,  or  to  party- writing,  he  raises  an  altar  of  proper  books 
and  (making  first  his  solemn  prayer  and  declaration)  purposes 
thereon  to  sacrifice  all  his  unsuccessful  writings.  As  the  pile  is 
kindled,  the  goddess,  beholding  the  flame  from  her  seat,  flies  and 
puts  it  out  by  casting  upon  it  the  poem  of  "Thule."  She  forth- 
with reveals  herself  to  him,  transports  him  to  her  temple,  unfolds 
her  arts,  and  initiates  him  into  her  mysteries;  then  announcing 
the  death  of  Eusden,  the  poet  laureate,  anuoiuts  him.  carries  hju} 
to  court,  and  proclaims  him  successor, 


122  THE  DUNCIAD. 

BOOK  I. 

The  mighty  mother,  and  her  son,  who  brings 
The  Smithneld  nmses1  to  the  ear  of  kings, 
I  sing.     Say  you,  her  instruments  the  great ! 
Called  to  this  work  by  Dulness,  Jove,  and  Fate:3 
You  by  whose  care,  in  vain  decried  and  curst, 
Still  Dunce  the  second  reigns  like  Dunce  the  first; 
Say  how  the  goddess  bade  Britannia  sleep, 
And  poured  her  spirit  o'er  the  land  and  deep 

In  eldest  time,  ere  mortals  writ  or  read, 
Ere  Pallas  issued  from  the  Thunderer's  head, 
Duhiess  o'er  all  possessed  her  ancient  right, 
Daughter  of  chaos  and  eternal  night: 
Fate  in  their  dotage  this  fair  idiot  gave, 
Gross  as  her  sire,  and  as  her  mother  grave, 
Labourious,  heavy,  busy,  bold  and  blind, 
She  ruled,  in  native  anarchy,  the  mind. 

Still  her  old  empire,  to  restore3  she 
For,  born  a  goddess,  Duhiess  never  dies 

0  thou !  whatever  title  please  thine  ear, 
Dean,  Drapier,  Bickerstaff,  or  Gulliver  !"4 
Whether  thou  choose  Cervantes'  serious  air, 
Or  laugh  and  shake  in  Rabelais'  easy  chair, 
Or  praise  the  court,  or  magnify  mankind,5 

Or  thy  grieved  country's  copper  chains  unbind; 
From  thy  Bcetia  though  her  power  retires, 
Mourn  not,  my  Swift,  at  aught  our  realm  acquires. 
Here  pleased  behold  her  mighty  wings  outspread 
To  hatch  a  new  Saturnian  age  of  lead.6 

1  Smithfield  is  the  place  where  Bartholomew  Fair  was  kept,  whose 
shows,  machines,  and  dramatical  entertainments,  formerly  agreeable 
only  to  the  taste  of  the  rabble,  were,  by  the  hero  of  this  poem  and 
others  of  equal  genius,  brought  to  the  theatres  of  Covent  Garden, 
Lincoln's-Inn-Fields,  and  the  Haymarket.  to  be  the  reigning  pleasures 
of  the  court  and  town.     This  happened  in  the  reigns  of  King  George 
I.  and  II.    See  Book  III.—  Warburton.  P. 

2  I.e.,  by  their  judgments,  their  interests,  and  their  inclinations.     P. 
8  This  restoration  makes  the  completion  of  the  poein.     Vide  Book 

IV.  P. 

4  The  several  names  and  characters  Swift  assumed  in  his  ludicrous, 
his  splenetic,  or  his  party  writings;  which  take  in  all  his  works. 

s  "Ironice,"  alluding  to  Gulliver's  representations  of  both. — The 
next  line  relates  to  the  papers  of  .:he  Drapier  against  the  currency  of 
Wood's  copper  coin  in  Ireland,  which,  upon  the  great  discontent  of  the 
people,  his  majesty  was  graciously  pleased  to  recall.— Pope. 

6  The  ancient  Golden  Age  is  by  poets  styled  Saturnian,  as  being 
tinder  the  reign  of  Saturn ;  but  in  the  chemical  language  Saturn  is 
lead.  She  is  said  here  only  to  be  spreading  her  wings  to  hatch  this 
age ;  which  is  not  produced  completely  till  the  fourth  book.— Poye, 


TEE  DUNCIAD.  123 

Close  to  those  walls1  where  folly  holds  her  throne, 
And  laughs  to  think  Monroe  would  take  her  down, 
Where  o'er  the  gates  by  his  famed  father's  hand,2 
Great  Gibber's  brazen,  brainless  brothers  stand; 
One  cell  there  is,  concealed  from  vulgar  eye, 
The  cave  of  poverty  and  poetry. 
'  Keen,  hollow  winds  howl  through  the  bleak  recess, 
Emblem  of  music  caused  by  emptiness. 
Hence  bards,  like  Proteus3  long  in  vain  tied  down, 
Escape  in  monsters,  and  amaze  the  town. 
Hone 3  miscellanies  spring,  the  weekly  boast     , 
Of  Curl's  chaste  press,  and  Lintot's  rubric  post:4 
Hence  hymning  Tyburn's  elegiac  lines,5 
Hence  journals,  medleys,  mercuries,  magazines; 
Sepulchral  lies,  our  holy  walls  to  grace, 
And  new-year  odes,6  and  all  the  Grub  Street  race. 

In  clouded  majesty  here  Duhiess  shone \ 
Four  guardian  virtues  round,  support  her  throne: 
Fierce  champion  Fortitude,  that  knows  110  fears 
Of  hisses,  blows,  or  want,  or  loss  of  ears: 
Calm  Temperance,  jwhose  blessings  those  partake 
Who  Hunger,  and  who  thirst  for  scribbling's  sake : 
Prudence,  whose  glass  presents  th'  approaching  jail: 
Poetic  justice,  with  her  lifted  scale. 
Where,  in  nice  balance,  truth  with  gold  she  weighs, 
And  solid  pudding  against  empty  praise. 

Here  she  beholds  the  chaos  dark  and  deep, 
Where  nameless  somethings  in  their  causes  sleep, 
'Till  genial  Jacob,7  or  a  warm  third  day, 
Call  forth  each  mass,  a  poem,  or  a  play: 


1  Bedlam,  whose  patients  were  under  Dr.  Morroe. 

2  Mr.  Cains  Gabriel  Gibber,  father  of  the  poet  lanrete.    The  two 
statues  of  the  lunatics  over  the  gates  of  Bedlam  Hospital  were  done  by 
him,  and  (as  the  son  justly  says  of  them)  are  no  ill  monuments  of  his 
fame  as  an  artist.  P. 

3  A  sea  god  who  had  the  power  of  taking  many  shapes. 

4  Two  booksellers,  of  whom  see  Book  II     The  former  was  fined  by 
the  Court  of  King's  Bench  for  publishing  obscene  books ;   the  latter 
usually  adorned  his  shop  with  titles  in  red  letters.— Warburton.      P. 

5  It  is  an  ancient  English  custom  for  the  malefactors  to  sing  a  psalm 
at  their  execution  at  Tyburn  ;  and  no  less  customary  to  print  elegies 
on  tneir  deaths,  at  the  same  time  or  before.— Warburton.  P. 

6  Made  by  the  poet  laureate  for  the  time  being,  to  be  sung  at  court 
on  every  New-year's  day,  the  words  of  which  are  happily  drowned  in 
the  voices  and  instruments. — Warburton.     '  P. 

?  Jacob  Tonson  the  bookseller.  He  made  a  great  fortune,  and  built 
D</WJI  P\nce,  in  Berkshire,  on  the  banks  of  theThames,  near  Windsor, 
A  bookseliar  who  did  hoiiour  to  liis  profession,  says  Warton., 


124  THE  DUNCIAD. 

How  hints,  like  spawn,  scarce  quick  in  embryo  He, 
How  new-born  nonsense  first  is  taught  to  cry, 
Maggots  half-formed  in  rhyme  exactly  meet, 
And  learn  to  crawl  upon  poetic  feet. 
Here  one  poor  word  an  hundred  clenches  makes,1 
And  ductile  dulness  new  meanders  takes; 
There  motley  images  her  fancy  strike, 
Figures  ill  paired,  and  similes  unlike. 
She  sees  a  mob  of  metaphors  advance, 
Pleased  with  the  madness  of  the  mazy  dance; 
How  tragedy  and  comedy  embrace; 
How  farce  and  epic  get  a  jumbled  race; 
How  Time  himself2  stands  still  at  her  command, 
Kealms  shift  their  place,  and  ocean  turns  to  land. 
Here  gay  description  Egypt  glads  with  show'rs, 
Or  gives  to  Zembla  fruits,  to  Barca  flow'rs; 
Glittering  with  ice  here  hoary  hills  are  seen, 
There  painted  valleys  of  eternal  green; 
In  cold  December  fragrant  chaplets  blow, 
And  heavy  harvests  nod  beneath  the  snow. 

All  these  and  more  the  cloud-compelling  queen 
Beholds  through  fogs,  that  magnify  the  scene. 
She,  tinselled  o'er  in  robes  of  varying  hues, 
"With  self-applause  her  wild  creation  views; 
Sees  momentary  monsters  rise  and  fall, 
And  with  her  own  fools-colours  gilds  them  all 

'Twas  on  the  day  when rich  and  grave,3 

Like  Cimon,4  triumphed  both  on  land  and  wave: 

1Puns.  ''It  may  not  be  amiss  to  give  an  instance  or  two  of  these 
operations  of  dulness  out  of  the  works  of  her  sons,  celebrated  in  the 
poem.  A  great  critic  formerly  held  these  clenches  in  such  abhorrence, 
that  he  declared,  '  he  that  would  pun,  would  pick  a  pocket.'  Yet  Mr. 
Dennis's  works  afford  us  notable  examples  in  this  kind ;  'Alexander 
Pope  hath  sent  abroad  into  the  world  as  many  bulls  as  his  namesake 
Pope  Alexander.— Let  us  take  the  initial  and  final  letters  of  his  name, 

—viz.,     A.    P E,    and  they  give  you  the  idea  of  an  ape.— Pope 

comes  from  the  Latin  word  Popa,  which  signifies  a  little  wart :  or  from 
poppysma,  because  he  was  continually  popping  out  squibs  of  wit, 
or  rather  Popysmata,  or  Popisms.'— Dennis  on  'Horn,  and  Daily  Jour- 
nal,' June  11, 1728."—  Pope. 

2  This  alludes  to  the  transgressions  of  the  unities  in  the  plays  of  snch 
poets.   For  the  miracles  wrought  upon  time  and  place,  and  the  mixture 
of  tragedy  and  comedy,   farce  and  epic,  see  Pluto  and  Proserpine, 
Penelope,  &c.,  if  yet  extant.— Warburton.  P. 

3  Yer.  85  m  the  former  editions, — 

"  'Twas  on  the  day  when  Thorold  rich  and  grave." 
Sir  G.  Thorold;  Lord  Mayor  in  1720. 

4  Lord  Mayor's  day.    His  name  the  author  had  left  in  blanks,  but 
most  certainly  could  never  be  that  which  the  editor  foisted  in  formerly, 
ajjd  which  nowise  agree  with  the  chronology  of  the  poem.    The  proce'§« 


THE  DUNCIAD. 

(Pomps  without  guilt,  of  bloodless  swords  and  maces, 
Glad  chains,  warm  furs,  broad  banners,  and  broad 

faces) 

Now  night  descending,  the  proud  scene  was  o'er, 
But  lived  in  Settle's  numbers  one  day  more.1 
Now  mayors  and  shrieves  all  hushed  and  satiate  lay, 
Yet  ate,  in  dreams,  the  custard  of  the  day; 
While  pensive  poets  painful  vigils  keep, 
Sleepless  themselves,  to  give  their  readers  sleep. 
Much  to  the  mindful  queen  the  feast  recalls 
What  city  swans  once  sung  within  the  walls; 
Much  she  revolves  their  arts,  their  ancient  praise, 
And  sure  succession  down  from  Heywood's2  days. 
She  saw,  with  j.oy,  the  line  immortal  run,  • 
Each  sire  impressed,  and  glaring  in  his  son, 
So  watchful  Bruin  forms,  with  plastic  care, 
Each  growing  lump,  and  brings  it  to  a  bear. 
She  saw  old  Prynne  in  restless  Daniel3  shine, 
And  Eusden  eke  out4  Blackm ore's5  endless  line; 
She  saw  slow  Philips6  creep  like  Tate's7  poor  page, 
And  all  the  mighty  mad8  in  Dennis  rage. 

sion  of  a  Lord  Mayor  is  made  partly  by  land,  and  partly  by  water. — • 
Cimon,  the  famous  Athenian  general,  obtained  a  victory  by  sea,  and 
another  by  laud,  on  the  same  day,  over  the  Persians  and  barbarians.  P. 

1  A  beautiful  manner  of  speaking,  usual  with  poets  in  praise  of 
poetry. — Scriblerus.    P. — Settle    was      poet   to    the  city   of    London. 
His  office  was  to  compose   yearly  panegyrics  upon  the  Lord  Mayors, 
and  verses  to  be  spoken  in   the  pageants :    but  that  part  of  the  shows 
being  at  length   frugally    abolished,    the    employment   of   city   poet 
ceased  ;   so  that  upon  Settle's  demise  there  was  no  successor  to  that 
place.— Warburton.  P. 

2  John  Hey  wood,  whose  "Interludes"  were  printed  in  the  time  of 
Henry  VIII.— Warburton. 

3  Daniel  de  Foe,  to  whom  we  owe  Robinson  Crusoe,  did  not  deserve 
a  place  in  the  Dunciad  ;  but  his  political  works  were  very  inferior  to 
his  great  fiction,  and  like  Pyrnnef  he  was  sentenced  to  the  pillory. 

4  Laurence  Eusden,  poet  laureate  before  Cibber.    His  name  as  a  poet 
is  forgotten.    The  Duke  of  Buckingham  thus  wrote  of  him : 

"In  rushed  Eusden  and  cried  who  shall  have  it  ? 
But  I,  the  true  Laureate  to  whom  the  king  gave  it. 
Apollo  begged  pardon  and  granted  his  claim, 
But  vowed  until  then  he  ne'er  heard  of  his  name." 
6  See  note  to  next  book. 

6  Ambrose  Philips.    He  was,  a  translator,  and  wrote  the  "Distressed 
Mother,"  a  play  copied  from  Racine. 

7  NahuinTate  was  poet  laureat,  a  6old  writer,  of  no  invention  ;  but 
sometimes  translated  tolerably  when  befriended  by  Mr.  Dryden.    In 
his  second  part  of  "Absalom  and  Achitophel  "  are  above  two  hundred 
admirable  lines  together  of  that  great  hand,  which  strongly  shiuo 
through  the  insipidity  of  the  rest.  P. 

8  Dennis  was  the  most  furious  of  critics,  and  had  especially  provoked 
the  enmity  of  Pope.    He,  John  Dennis,  was  the  sou  of  a  saddler  in 
London,  born  1657. 


126  THE  DUNCIAD. 

In  each  she  marks  her  image  full  exprest, 
But  chief  in  Bays's1  monster-breeding  breast: 
Bays,  formed  by  nature  stage  and  town  to  bless, 
And  act,  and  be,  a  coxcomb  with  success. 
Dulness,  with  transport  eyes  the  lively  dunce, 
Rememb'ring  she  herself  was  pertness  once. 
Now  (shame  to  fortune!)  an  ill  run  at  play 
Blanked  his  bold  visage,  and  a  thin  third  day: 
Swearing  and  supparless  the  hero  sate, 
Blasphemed  his  gods,  the  dice,  and  d — d  his  fate; 
Then  gnawed  his  pen,  then  dashed  it  on  the  ground, 
Sinking  from  thougnt  to  thought,  a  vast  profound! 
Plunged  for  his  sense,  but  found  no  bottom  there; 
Yet  wrote  and  floundered  on  in  mere  despair. 
Bound  him  much  embryo,  much  abortion  lay, 
Much  future  ode,  and  abdicated  play: 
Nonsense  precipitate,  like  running  lead, 
That  slipped  through  cracks  and  zig-zags  of  the  head; 
All  that  on  folly  frenzy  could  beget, 
Fruits  of  duU  heat,  and  sooterkins  of  wit. 
Next,  o'er  his  books  his  eyes  began  to  roll, 
In  pleasing  memory  of  aU  he  stole, 
How  here  he  sipped,  how  there  he  plundered  snug, 
And  sucked  all  o'er,  like  an  industrious  bug. 
Here  lay  poor  Fletcher's  half  eat  scenes,2  and  here 
The  frippery  of  crucified  Moliere;3 
There  hapless  Shakespeare,  yet  of  Tibbald  sore, 
Wished  he  had  blotted4  for  himself  before. 
The  rest  on  outside  merit  but  presume, 
Or  serve  (like  other  fools)  to  fill  a  room; 


1  In  a  former  edition  the  name  "  Tibbald"  was  in  the  place  of  Bays. 
Tibbald  or  Theobald  was  one  of  the  many  editors  of  Shakespeare. 
Pope,  who  was  employed  on  an  edition  of  Shakespeare  at  the  time, 
thought  that  Tibbald  had  behaved  badly  in  secretly  preparing  a  rival 
edition.    By  "Bays,"  Coliey  Gibber  is  meant,  who  was  poet  laureate  at 
the  time.     The  first  perfectly  pure  and  proper  comedy  acted   after 
the  Restoration  was  Coliey  Gibber's  "Love's  Last  Shift"    His  come- 
dies were  light,  airy,  and  pleasant,  but  his  "Royal  Odes"  very  inferior 
poems.    He  was  born  1671,  died  1757. 

2  John  Fletcher,  a  well-known  dramatic  poet,  born  1576,  died  1625. 

3  Moliere,  the  great  French  comic  dramatist,  born  1622,  died  1673. 
He  has  been  called  the  French  Aristophanes. 

4  It  was  a  ridiculous  praise  which  the  players  gave  to  Shakespeare, 
"that  he  never  blotted  aline."    Ben  Jousou*  honestly  wished   he  had 
blotted  a  thousand  ;  and  Shakespeare  would  certainly  have  wished  the 
lame,  if  he  had  lived  to  see  those  alterations  in  his  works,  which,  not 
the  actors  only  (and  especially  the  daring  hero  of  this  poem)  liave  made 
.an  the  stage.  §ut  the  presumptuous  critics  of  our  days  in  their  editions 
— Warburtoib  P, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  12? 

Such  with  their  shelves  as  due  proportion  hold, 
Or  their  fond  parents  dressed  in  red  and  gold; 
Or  where  the  pictures  for  the  page  atone, 
And  Quarles1  is  saved  by  beauties  not  his  own. 
Here  swells  the  shelf  with  Ogilby  the  great;2 
There,  stamped  with  arms,  Newcastle  shines  com- 
plete:3 

Here,  all  his  suffring  brotherhood  retire, 
And  'scape  the  martyrdom  of  jakes  and  fire: 
A  Gothic  library !  of  Greece  and  Home 
Well  purged,  and  worthy  Settle,  Banks,  and  Broome.4 

But,  high  above,  more  solid  learning  shone, 
The  classics  of  an  age  that  heard  of  none; 
There  Caxton  slept,  with  Wynkyn  at  his  side,5 
One  elapsed  in  wood,  and  one  in  strong  cow-hide. 
There  saved  by  spice,  like  mummies,  many  a  year, 
Dry  bodies  of  divinity  appear; 
De  Lyra6  there  a  dreadful  front  extends, 
And  here  the  groaning  shelves  Philemon7  bends. 

1  The  pictures  illiistfjwxing  Quarles's  "Emblems."     "A  book."  says 
Bowles,  "not  so  much' .En own  and  valued  as  it  ought  to  be."    Francis 
Quarles  was  born  1592,  died  1644.    Pope  is  supposed  to  have  been  con- 
siderably indebted  to  his  works. 

2  John  Ogilby,  born  1600,  died  1676.    He  translated  Yirgil  and  Homer, 
both  illustrated,  also  a  magnificent  bible,  with  prints,  foi1  which  he  was 
remunerated  by  the  House  of  Lords. 

3  Margaret   Cavendish,  Duchess  of  Newcastle.    Her  works  In  folio 
were  elegantly  bound,  and  stamped  with  the  ducal  arms.     She  wrote 
poems  and  plays.     Some  passages  from  her  works  are  not  without 
merit,  especially  her  descriptions  of  Mirth  and  Melancholy.    See  Leigh 
Hunt's  "Men,  Women  and  Books." 

4  The  poet  has  mentioned  these  three  authors  in  particular,  as  they 
are  parallel  to  our  hero  in  three  capacities:     1.  Settle  was  his  brother 
laureate;  only  indeed  upon  half  pay,  for  the  city  instead  of  the  court; 
but  equally  famous  for  miintelligib'e  flights  in  his  poems  on  public 
occasions,  such  as  shows,  birthdays,  &c.    2   Banks  was  his  rival  in 
tragedy  (though  more  successful)  iii  one  of  his  tragedies,  the  "Earl  of 
Essex,"  which  is  yet  alive:  "Anna  Boleyii,"  the  ''Queen  of  Scots,"  and 
"  Cyrus  the  Great,"  are  dead  and  gone.    These  he  dressed  in  a  sort  of 
beggar's  velvet,  or  a  happy   mixture  of  the  thick  fustian  and  thin 
prosaic;  exactly  imitated  iii  "Perolla  and  Isadora,"  "Caesar  in  Egypt," 
and  the  "Heroic  Daughter."    3.  Broome  was  a  serving-man  of  Ben 
Jonson,  who  once  picked  up  a  comedy  from  his  betters,  or  from  sonre 
cast  scenes  of  his  master,  not  entirely  contemptible.—  Warburton.    P. 

6  William  Caxton,  the  first  English  printer,  born  1410,  died  1491.  We 
owe  to  him  the  introduction  of  this  great  art  into  Eugland.  Wynkyn 
de  Worde  was  his  successor,  and  printed  during  the  reigns  of  Henry 
VII.  and  Henry  VIII. 

6  De  Lyra  was  born  in  Normandy,  of  Jewish  parents ;  but  was  con- 
verted to  Christianity  and  became  a  Cordelier.    He  was  a  voluminous 
commentator  and  died  1340. — Warton. 

7  Philemon  Holland,  doctor  in  physic.     "  He  translated  so  many 
books,  that  a  man  would  think  he  had  done  nothing  else;  insomuch 
that  he  might  be  called  translator  general  of  his  ago.     Tho  hooks 
alone  of  his  turning  into  English  are  sufficient  to  make  {4  country 
gentleman  a  complete  library."—  Winslanly.  2. 


128  THE  DUNCIAD. 


Of  these,  twelve  volumes,  twelve  of  amplest  size, 
Redeemed  from  tapers  and  defrauded  pies, 
Inspired  he  seizes;  these  an  altar  raise; 
An  hecatomb  of  pure  unsullied  lays 
That  altar  crowns;  a  folio  common-place 
Founds  the  whole  pile,  of  all  his  works  the  base; 
Quartos,  octavos,  shape  the  less'ning  pyre; 
A  twisted  birthday  ode  completes  the  sprire. 

Then  he :  "  Great  tamer  of  all  human  art ! 
First  in  my  care,  and  ever  at  my  heart; 
Dulness !  whose  good  old  cause  I  yet  defend, 
With  whom  my  muse  began,  with  whom  shall  end, 
E're  since  Sir  Fopling's  periwig1  was  praise, 
To  the  last  honours  of  the  Butt2  and  Bays; 
O  thou !  of  bus'ness  the  directing  soul ! 
To  this  our  head  like  byas  to  the  bowl,3 
"Which,  as  more  pond'rous,  made  its  aim  more  true, 
Obliquely  waddling  to  the  mark  in  view: 
O  !  ever  gracious  to  perplexed  mankind, 
Still  spread  a  healing  mist  before  the  mind; 
And,  lest  we  err  by  wit's  wild  dancing  light, 
Secure  us  kindly  in  our  native  night. 
Or,  if  to  wit  a  coxcomb  make  pretence, 
Guard  the  sure  barrier  between  that  and  sense; 
Or  quite  unravel  all  the  reas'ning  thread, 
And  hang  some  curious  cobweb  in  its  stead ! 
As,  forced  from  wind-guns,  lead  itself  can  fly, 
And  pond'rous  slugs  cut  swiftly  through  the  sky; 
As  clocks  to  weight  their  nimble  motion  owe, 
The  wheels  above  urged  by  the  load  below: 
Me  emptiness,  and  dulness  could  inspire, 
And  were  my  elasticity  and  fire. 
Some  demon  stole  my  pen  (forgive  the  offence) 
And  once  betrayed  me  into  common  sense: 
Else  all  my  prose  and  verse  were  much  the  same; 
This  prose  on  stilts,  that  poetry  fall'n  lame. 


1  The  first  visible  cause  of  the  passion  of  the  town  for  our  hero  was 
a  fair,  flaxen,  full-bottomed  periwig,  which,  he  tells  us,  he  wore  in 
his  first  play  of  "  The  Fool  in  Fashion."    It  attracted  in  a  particular 
manner  the  friendship  of  Colonel  Brett,  who  wanted  to  purchase  it. 
*     *     *     *    This  remarkable  periwig,  usually  made  its  entrance 
upon  the  stage  in  a  sedan,  brought  in  by  two  chairmen,  with  infinite 
approbation  of  the  audiense.  P. 

2  A  butt  of  sack  was  part  of  the  annual  recompense  of  the  Laure- 
ate.   It  is  now  commuted  for  its  pecuniary  value. 

3  Byas  is  a  weight  (a  small  piece  o£  lead)  inside  a.  bowl  to  prevent 
its  swerving  at  first, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  129 

Did  on  the  stage  my  fops  appear  confined? 

My  life  gave  ampler  lessons  to  mankind. 

Did  the  dead  letter  unsuccessful  prove  ? 

The  brisk  example  never  failed  to  move. 

Yet  sure  had  heav'n  decreed  to  save  the  state, 

Heav'n  had  decreed  these  works  a  longer  date. 

Could  Troy  be  saved  by  any  single  hand, 

This  grey-goose  weapon  must  have  made  her  stand. 

What  can  I  now  ?  my  Fletcher1  cast  aside, 

Take  up  the  Bible,  once  my  better  guide  ?3 

Or  tred  the  path  by  vent'rous  heroes  trod, 

This  box  my  thunder,  this  right  hand  my  God  ? 

Or  chaired  at  White's  amidst  th-  doctors  sit,3 

Teach  oaths  to  gamesters,  and  to  nobles  wit  ? 

Or  bidst  thou  rather  party  to  embrace  ? 

(A  friend  to  party  thou,  and  all  her  race; 

'Tis  the  same  rope  at  different  ends  they  twist; 

To  dulness  Ridpath  is  as  dear  as  Mist.4) 

Shall  I,  like  Curtius,  desp'rate  in  my  zeal, 

O'er  head  and  ears  plunge  for  the  commonweal  ? 

Or  rob  Rome's  ancient  geese    c  all  their  glories, 

And  cackling  sa,ve  the  monarchy  of  Tories'?5 

Hold — to  the  minister  I  more  incline; 

To  serve  his  cause,  O  queen !  is  serving  thine. 

And  see !  thy  very  gazetteers6  give  o'er, 

Even  Ralph  repents,  and  Henley  writes  no  more. 

What  then  remains  ?  Ourself.     Still,  still  remain 

Cibberian  forehead,  and  Cibberian  brain. 


1  A  familiar  manner  of  speaking,  used  by  modern  critics,  of  a 
favourite  author.    Bays  might  as  j  ustly  speak  thus  of  Fletcher,  as  a 
.French  wit  did  of  Tully,  seeing  his  works  in  his  library,  "  Ah !  mon 
cherCiceron;  j'e  le  connois  bien :  c'est  le  meme  que  Marc  Tulle." 
But  he  had  a  better  title  to  call  Fletcher  his  own,  having  made  so 
free  with  him. —  Wat-burton.  P. 

2  When,  according  to  his  father's  intention,  he  had  been  a  clergy- 
man, or  (as  he  thinks  himself)  a  Bishop  of  the  Church  of  England. 
P.— Gibber  was  sent  to  Winchester  School  at  an  early  age  with  a  view 
to  a  fellowship  at  New  College. — Bowles 

3  This  learned  critic  is  to  be  understood  allegorically :  The  doctors 
in  this  place  mean  no  more  than  false  dice,  a  cant  prase  used 
amongst  gamesters.    So  the  meaning  of  these  four  sonorous  lines  is 
only  this,  "  Shall  I  play  fair  or  foul?  "—Pope. 

4  George  Kidpath,  author  of  a  Whig  paper,  called  the  "Flying 
Post;  "  Nathaniel  Mist,  of  a  famous  Tory  paper— Mist's  Weelcly  Journal. 

5  An  allusion  to  the  well-known  story  of  the  Koman  geese,  whose 
cackling  saved  the  capital. 

6  A  band  of  ministerial  writers,  hired  at  the  price  mentioned  in 
the  note  on  Book  it,  ver.  316,  who,  on  the  very  day  their  patron 
quitted  his  post,  laid  down  their  paper,  and  declared  they  would 

ore  meddle  in  politics.—  Warburton,  P, 


130  THE  DUN 01  AD. 

This  brazen  brightness,  to  the  squire  so  dear; 
This  polished  hardness,  that  reflects  the  peer: 
This  arch  absurd,  that  wit  and  fool  delights; 
This  mess,  tossed  up  of  Hockley-hole  and  White's; 
"Where  dukes  and  butchers  join  to  wreathe  my  crown, 
At  once  the  bear  and  fiddle  of  the  town. 

"O  born  in  sin,  and  forth  in  folly  brought  I1 
Works  damned,  or  to  be  damned!  (your  father's 

fault) 

Go,  purified  by  flames  ascend  the  sky, 
My  better  and  more  Christian  progeny  !2 
Unstained,  untouched,  and  yet  in  maiden  sheets; 
While  all  your  smutty  sisters  walk  the  streets. 
Ye  shall  not  beg,  like  gratis-given  Bland, 
Sent  with  a  pass,3  and  vagrant  through  the  land; 
Not  sail  with  Ward,  to  ape-and-monkey  climes,4 
Where  vile  Mundungus  trucks  for  viler  rhymes: 
Not  sulpher-tipt,  emblaze  an  ale-house  fire; 
Not  wrap  up  oranges,  to  pelt  your  sire ! 
O !  pass  more  innocent,  in  infant  state, 
To  the  mild  limbo  of  our  father  Tate:5 
Or  peaceably  forgot,  at  once  be  blest 
In  ShadwelTs  bosom  with  eternal  rest ! 
Soon  to  that  mass  of  nonsense  to  return, 
Where  things  destroyed  are  swept  to  things  unborn." 

With  that,  a  tear  (portentous  sign  of  grace !) 

f  This  is  a  tender  and  passionate  apostrophe  to  his  own  works, 
which  he  is  going  to  sacrifice  agreeable  to  the  nature  of  man  in 
great  affliction ;  and  refiecting  like  a  parent  on  the  many  miserable 
fates  to  which  they  would  otherwise  be  subject. — Pope. 

2  Notwithstanding   all  our  author's  attempts  to  reduce  to  con- 
tempt "Gibber's  Apology  for  his  Life,  "  they  will  never  be  able  to 
convince  people  that  it  is  not  a  work  abounding  in  curious  anec- 
dotes, and  characters  very  accurately  drawn  throughout,  though  in 
a  style  singularly  affected.    Swift  was  so  highly  pleased  with  "  Gib- 
ber's Life,"  that  he  sat  up  all  night  to  read  it. —  Warton. 

3  It  was  a  practice  so  to  give  the  "  Daily  Gazeteer  "  and  ministerial 
pamphlets  (in  which  this  B.  was  a  writer),  .and  to  send  them  post- 
free  to  all  the  towns  in  the  kingdom.    Bland  was  the  Provost  of 
Eton.—  Warton. 

4  "Edward  Ward,  a  very  voluminous   poet  in  Hud ibrastic  verse, 
but  best  known  by  the  « London  Spy,'  in  prose.    He  has  of  late  years 
kept  a  public  house  in  the  city  (but  in  a  genteel  way),  and  with  his 
wit,  humour,  and  good  liquor  (ale)  afforded  his  guests  a  pleasurable 
entertainment,  especially  those  of  the  high-church  party."— Jacob, 
"  Lives  of  Poets,"  vol.  ii.  p.  225.    Great  numbers  of  his  works  were 
yearly  sold  into  the  Plantations.— Ward,  in  a  book  called   "Apollo's 
Maggot,"  declared  this  account  to  be  a  great  falsity,  protesting  that 
his  public  house  was  not  in  the  city,  but  in  Moorfields.—  Warburton. 

P. 

5  Tate  and  Shadwell,  two  of  his  predecessors  in  the  Laurel, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  131 

Stole  from  the  master  of  the  seven-fold  face; 
And  thrice  he  lifted  high  the  birthday  brand, 
And  thrice  he  dropt  it  from  his  quiv'ring  hand; 
Then  lights  the  structure,  with  averted  eyes: 
The  rolling  smoke  involves  the  sacrifice. 
The  opening  clouds  disclose  each  work  by  turns; 
Now  flames  the  Cid,  and  now  Perolla  burns;1 
Great  Caesar  roars,  and  hisses  in  the  fires; 
King  John  in  silence  modestly  expires: 
No  merit  now  the  dear  Nonjuror2  claims, 
Moliere's  old  stubble2  in  a  moment  flames. 
Tears  gushed  again,  as  from  pale  Priam's  eyes 
When  the  last  blaze  sent  Ilion  to  the  skies. 

Eoused  by  the  light,  old  Dulness  heaved  the  head, 
Then  snatched  a  sheet  of  Thule3  from  her  bed; 
Sudden  she  flies,  and  whelms  it  o'er  the  pyre; 
Down  sink  the  flames,  and  with  a  hiss  expire. 

Her  ample  presence  fills  up  all  the  place; 
A  veil  of  fogs  dilates  her  awful  face: 
Great  in  her  charms !  as  when  on  shrieves  and  may'rs 
She  looks,  and  breathes  herself  into  their  airs. 
She  bids  him  wait  her  to  her  sacred  dome  :4 
Well  pleased  he  entered,  and  confessed  his  home. 
So  spirits  ending  their  terrestrial  race 
Ascend,  and  recognize  their  native  place. 
This  the  great  mother5  dearer  held  than  all 

1  In  the  first  notes  on  the  Duuciad  it  was  said,  that  this  author  was 
particularly  excellent  at  tragedy.     "This  (says  he)  is  as  unjust  as  to 
say  I  could  not  dance  on  a  rope."-    But  certain  it  is  that  lie  had 
attempted  to  dance  on  this  rope,  and  fell  most  shamefully,  having  pro- 
duced no  less  than    four    tragedies  (the  names  of   which  the  poet 
preserves  in  these  few  lines),  the  three  first  of  them  were  fairly  print- 
ed,  acted,   and  damned;    the  fourth  suppressed,  in  fear  of  the  like 
treatment. — Pope. 

2  The   "Nonjuror"  was  the    most    successful    of   Cihher's    plays. 
George  II.  after  seeing  it,  gave  him  £200  and  the  Laureateship.    (Edit.) 
— A  comedy  threshed  out  of  Moliere's  "Tartuffe,"   and  so  much  the 
translator's  favourite,  that  he  assures  us  all  our  author's  dislike  to  it 
could  only  arise  from  disaffection  to  the  government. — Pope. 

3  An  unfinished  poem  of  that  name,  of  which  one  sheet  was  printed 
many  years  ago,  by  Amb.   Philips,  a  northern  author.    It  is  an  usual 
methodof  putting  out  a  fire,  to  cast  wet  sheets  upon  it.    Some  critics 
have  been  of  opinion  that  this  sheet  was  of  the  nature  of  the  Asbestos, 
which  cannot  be  consumed  by  fire:  but  I  rather  think  it  an  allegorical 
allusion  to  the  coldness  and  heaviness  of  the  writing. — Pope. 

4  Where  he  no  sooner  enters,    but  he  recognizes  the  place  of  his 
original ;    as  Plato  says  the  spirits  shall,  at  their  entrance  into  the 
celestial  regions. — Pope. 

5  Magna  mater,  here  applied  to  dulness.    The  Quidnuncs,   a  name 
given  to  the  ancient  members  of  certain  political  clubs,  who  were  cou- 
etautly  inquiring  quid  nunc  ?  \yhat  ae  ws  I—Pope, 


132  THE  DVNCIAD. 

The  clubs  of  Quidnuncs,  or  her  own  Guildhall-. 
Here  stood  her  opium,  here  she  nuresd  her  owls, 
And  here  she  planned  th'  imperial  seat  of  fools. 

Here  to  her  chosen  all  her  works  she  shows; 
Prose  swelled  to  verse,  verse  loit'ring  into  prose: 
How  random  thoughts  now  meaning  chance  to  find, 
Now  leave  all  memory  of  sense  behind; 
How  prologues  into  prefaces  decay, 
And  these  to  notes  are  frittered  quite  away. 
How  index-learning  turns  no  student  pale, 
Yet  holds  the  eel  of  science  by  the  tail: 
How,  with  less  reading  than  makes  felons  scape.1 
Less  human  genius  that  God  gives  an  ape, 
Small  thanks  to  France,  and  none  to  Rome  or  Greece, 
A  vast,  vamped,  future,  old,  revived,  new  piece, 
'Twixt  Plautus,  Fletcher,  Shakespeare,  and  Corneille, 
Can  make  a  Gibber,  Tibbald,2  or  Ozell.3 

The  Goddess  then,  o'er  his  annointed  head, 
With  mystic  words,  the  sacred  opium  shed. 
And  lo !  her  bird  (a  monster  of  a  fowl, 
Something  betwixt  a  Heideggre4  and  owl) 
Perched  on  his  crown.     "  All  hail !  and  hail  again, 
My  son:  the  promised  land  expects  thy  reign. 
Know,  Eusden  thirsts  no  more  for  sack  or  praise; 
He  sleeps  among  the  dull  of  ancient  days; 
Safe,  where  no  critics  damn,  no  duns  molest, 
Where  wretched  Withers,5  Ward,6  and  Gildon7  rest, 

1  Being  able  to  read  their  ''neck  Averse  "  before  the  gallows. 

2  Lewis  Tibbald  (as  pronounced)  or  Theobald  (as  written)  was  bred 
an  attorney  (says  Mr.  Jacob)  of  Sittenburu  in  Kent.    He  was  author  of 
some  forgotten   plays,   translations,   and  other  pieces.    He  was  con- 
cerned in  a  paper  called  the  ''Censor,"  and  a  translation  of  "Ovid"; 
and,  as  we  have  said,  edited  "Shakespeare." 

3  Mr.  John  Ozell  (if  we  credit  Mr.  Jacob)  did  go  to  school  in  Leices- 
tershire, where  somebody  left  him  something  to  live  on.  when  he  shall 
retire  from  business.    He  was  designed  to  be  sent  to  Cambridge,  in 
order  for  priesthood  :  but  he  chose  rather  to  be  placed  in  an  offace  of 
accounts,  in  the  city,  being  qualified  for  the  same  by  his  skill  in  arith- 
metic, and  writing  the  necessary  hands.     He  has  obliged  the  world  with 
many  translations  of  French  plays.— Jacob.  "Lives  of  Dram.  Poets," 
p.  198.— Pope. 

4  A  strange  bird  from  Switzerland,  and  not  (as  some  have  supposed) 
the  name  of  an  eminent  person  who  was  a  man  of  parts,  and,  as  was 
said  of  Petroiiins,  Arbiter  Elegantiarum.    P.     [Heidegger,  a  native  of 
Switzerland,  came  to  England,  in  1708,  and  by  his  address  became  the 
leader  of  fashion  and  manager  of  the  opera-house,  by  which  he  made 
£5000  a-year.] 

6  George  Withers,  the  Puritan  poet. 

6  Ward  wrote  the  u London  Spy,"  and  turned  "Don  Quixote"  into 
Hudibrastic  verses. 
T  Charles,  Gildoa,  a  writer  of  criticisms  and  libels  of  the  last  age,  bred. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  133 

And  high-born  Howard/  more  majestic  sire, 
With  "  Fool  of  Quality"  completes  the  quire. 
Thou,  Gibber !  thou,  his  laurel  shalt  support, 
Folly,  my  son,  has  still  a  friend  at  court. 
Lift  up  your  gates,  ye  princes,  see  him  come ! 
Sound,  sound,  ye  viols;  be  the  cat-call  dumb! 
Bring,  bring  the  madding  bay,  the  drunken  vine; 
The  creeping,  dirty,  courtly  ivy  join. 
And  thou!  his  aid-de-camp,  lead  on  my  sons, 
Light-armed  with  points,  antitheses,  and  puns. 
Let  Bawdry,  Billinsgate,  my  daughters  dear, 
Support  his  front,  and  oaths  bring  up  the  rear: 
And  under  his,  and  under  Archer's  wing, 
Gaming  and  Grub  Street  skulk  behind  the  king.2 

"  O  !  when  shall  rise  a  monarch  all  our  own, 
And  I,  a  nursing-mother,  rock  the  throne; 
'Twixt  prince  and  people  close  the  curtain  draw, 
SKade  him  from  light,  and  cover  him  from  law; 
Fatten  the  courtier,  starve  the  learned  band, 
And  suckle  armies,  and  dry-nurse  the  land: 
Till  senates  nod  to  lullabies  divine,. 
And  all  be  sleep,  as  at  an  ode  of  thine." 

She  ceased.     Then  swells  the  chapel-ro}ral3  throat: 
"God  save  King  Gibber !"  mounts  in  every  note. 
Familiar  White's,  "God  save  King  Colley!" cries;. 
"  God  save  King  Colley !"  Drury  Lane  replies: 
To  Needham's  quick  the  voice  triumphal  rode, 
But  pious  Needham  4  dropt  the  name  of  God; 

at  St.  Omer's  with  the  Jesuits;  but  renouncing  popery,  he  published 
Blount's  hooks  against  the  divinity  of  Christ,  the  '•  Oracles  of  lleason," 
&c.  He  signalized  himself  as  a  critic,  having  written  some  very  bad 

other  c; 
•l  The  ( 

1  Hon.  Edward  Howard,  author  of  the  "  British  Princes,"  and  a  great 
number  of  wonderful  pieces,  celebrated  by  the  late  Earls  of  Dorset  and 
Ilochester,  Duke  of  Buckingham,  Mr.  Waller,  &c. — Pope. 

2  When  the  statute  against  gaming  was  drawn  up,  it  was  represented, 
that  the  king,  by  ancient  custom,  plays  at  hazard  one  night  in  the 
year;  and  therefore  a  clause  was  inserted,  with  an  exception  as  to  that 
particular.    Under  this   pretence,  the  groom-porter  (Archer)   had   a 
room  appropriated  to  gaming  all  the  summer  the  Court  was  at  Kensing- 
ton,  which  his  Majesty  accidently  being  acquainted  of,  with  a  just 
indignation  prohibited.  P. 

3  The  voices  and  instruments  used  in  the  service  of  the  chapel  royal 
being  also  employed  in  the  performance  of  the  birthday  and  new-year 
odes. —  Warburton. 

4  A  matron  of  grent  fame,  and  very  religious  in  her  way  ;  whose  con- 
stant prayer  it  was  that  she  might  "get  enough  by  her  profession  to 
leave  it  off  in  time  and  make  her  peace  with  God.'    But  her  fate  waa 


134  THE  DUNCIAD. 

Back  to  the  Devil1  the  last  echoes  roll, 
And  "  Coll !"  each  butcher  roars  at  Hockley  Hole. 
So  when  Jove's  block  descended  from  on  high 
(As  sings  thy  great  forefather  Ogilby2) 
Loud  thunder  to  its  bottom  shook  the  bog, 
And  the  hoarse  nation  croaked,  "Grod   save  King 
Log!" 


BOOK  THE  SECOND. 

r  ARGUMENT. 

THE  king  being  proclaimed,  the  solemnity  is  graced  with  pu 
and  sports  of  various  kinds;  not  instituted  by  the  1 
.ZEueas  in  Virgil,  but  for  greater  honour  by  the'goddes: 
(in  like  manner  as  the  games  Pythia,  Isthmia,  &c.,  were  anciently 
said  to  be  ordained  by  the  gods,  and  as  Thetis  herself  appearing, 
according  to  Homer,  Odyss.  XXIV.  proposed  the  prizes  in  honour 
of  her  son  Achilles).  Hither  flock  the  poets  and  critics,  attended, 
as  is  but  just,  with  their  patrons  and  booksellers.  The  goddess  is 
first  pleased,  for  her  disport,  to  propose  games  to  the  booksellers,  *rv 
and  setteth  up  the  phantom  of  a  poet,  which  they  contend  to  over-  y 
take.  The  races  described,  witli  their  divers  accidents.  Next,  the 
game  for  a  poetess.  Then  follow  the  exercises  for  the  poets,  pjL 
tickling,  vociferating,  diving :  The  first  holds  forth  the  arts  and! 
practices  of  dedicators,  the  second  of  disputants  and  fustian  poets,] 
the  third  of  profound,  dark,  and  dirty  party-writers.  Lastly^JbrJ 
the  critics,  the  goddess  proposes  (with,  grunt  propriety)  an  'exer- 
cise, not  of  their  parts,  but  their  patience,  in  hearing  the  works  of 
two  voluminous  authors,  one  in  verse,  and  the  other  in  prose, 
deliberately  read  without  sleeping.  The  various  effects  of  which, 
with  the  several  degrees  and  manners  of  their  operation,  are  here 
set  forth  ;  till  the  whole  number,  not  of  critics  only,  but  of  specta- 
tors, actors,  and  all  present,  fall  asleep;  which  naturally  and 
necessarily  ends  the  games. 

BOOK  H. 

HIGH  on  a  gorgeous  seat,  that  far  out-shone 
Henley's  gilt  tub,3  or  Fleckno's  Irish  throne,4 

not  so  happy  ;  for  being  convicted  and  set  in  the  pillory  she  was  (to  the 
lasting  shame  of  all  her  great  friends  and  votaries)  so  ill  used  by  the 
populace,  that  it  put  an  end  to  her  days.  P. 

1  The  Devil  Tavern,  in  Fleet  Street,  where  those  oles  are  usually 
rehearsed  before  they  are  performed  at  Court,  upon  which  a  wit  of  the 
Court  made  this  epigram. 

"When  laureates  make  odes,  do  you  ask  of  what  sort? 

Do  you  ask  if  they  good  are  or  evil  ? 
You  may  judge.    From  the  Devil  they  go  to  the  Court, 

And  go  from  the  Court  to  the  Devil.  P. 

2  See  Ogilby's  "  JSsop'    Fables,"  where,  in  the  story  of  the  frogs  and 
their  king,  this  excellent  hemistic  is  to  be  found.--Poj?e. 

3  The  pulpit  of  a  dissenter  is  usually  called  a  tub;    but  that  of  Mr. 
Orator  Henley  was  covered  with  velvet,  and  adorned  with  gold.    He 
had  also  a  fair  altar,  and  over  it  this  extraordinary  inscription,  "  The 
Primitive  Eucharist."     See  the  history  of  this  person,  Book  in.       P. 

*  Richard  Fleckno  WNS  an  Irish  priest,  but  ha4  laid  aside  (a,a  hjmsetf 


THE  DUNCIAD.  135 

Or  that  where  on  her  Curls  the  public  pours,1 
All-bounteous,  fragrant  grains  and  golden  showers, 
Great  Gibber  sate :  The  proud  Parnassian  sneer, 
The  conscious  simper,  and  the  jealous  leer, 
Mix  in  his  look:  all  eyes  direct  their  rays 
On  him,  and  crowds  turn  coxcombs  as  they  gaze: 
His  peers  shine  round  him  with  reflected  grace: 
New  edge  their  dulness,  and  new  bronze  their  face. 
So  from  the  sun's  broad  beam  in  shallow  urns 
Heav'ns  twinkling  sparks  draw  light,  and  point  their 
horns. 

Not  with  more  glee,  by  hands  pontific  crowned, 
With  scarlet  hats  wide-waving  circled  round, 
Home  in  her  capitol  saw  Querno  sit,2 
Throned  on  seven  hills,  the  antichrist,  of  w^- 

And  now  the  queen,  to  glad  her  sons,  proclaims, 
By  herald  hawkers,  high  heroic  games. 
Tliey  summon  all  her  race:  an  endless  band 
Pours  forth,  and  leaves  unpeopled  half  the  land 
A  motley  mixture !  in  long  wigs,  in  bags, 
In  silks,  in  crapes,  in  Garters,  and  in  rags, 
From  drawing-rooms,  from  colleges,  from  garrets, 
On  horse,  on  foot,  in  hacks,  and  gilded  chariots: 


expressed  it  (the  mechanic  part  of  priesthood.  He  printed  some  plays, 
poems,  letters,  and  travels.  I  doubt  not  our  author  took  occasion 
to  mention  him  in  respect  to  the  poem  of  Mr.  Dryden,  to  which  this 
bears  some  resemblance  though  of  a  character  more  different  from  it 
than  that  of  the  "JEneid"  from  the  ''Iliad,"  or  the  "Lutriu"  of 
Boileau  from  the  "Defait  de  Bouts  riinees  "  of  Sarazin.  P. 

1  Edmund  Curl  stood  in  the  pillory  at  Charing  Cross,  in  March 
1727-8.    "  This  (saith  Edmund  Curl)  is  a  false  assertion 1  had  in- 
deed the  corporal  punishment  of  what  the  gentlemen  of  the  long 
robe  are  pleased  jocosely  to  call  mounting  the  rostrum  for  one  hour : 
but  that  scene  of  action  was  not  in  the  month  of  March,  but  in  Feb- 
ruary."   And  of  the  history  of  his  being  tost  in  a  blanket,  he  saith, 
"  Here,  Scriblerus !  thou  leeseth  In  what  thou  assertest  concerning 
the  blanket;    it  was  not  a  blanket,  but  a  rug."    Much  in  the  same 
manner  Mr.  Gibber  remonstrated,  that  his  brothers,  at  Bedlam, 
mentioned  Book  I.,  were  not  Brazen,  but  blocks;  yet  our  author  let 
it  pass  unaltered,  as  a  trifle  that  no  way  altered  the  relationship.— 
Scriblerus. 

2  Camillo  Querno  was  of  Apulia,  who,  hearing  the  great  encourage- 
ment which  Leo  X.  gave  to  poets,  travelled  to  Rome  with  a  harp  in 
his  hand,  and  sung  to  it  twenty  thousand  verses  of  a  poem  called 
Alexias.    He  was  introduced  as  a  buffoon  to  Leo,  and  promoted  to 
the  honor  of  the  Laurel,  a  jest  which  the  Court  of  Rome  and  the  Pope 
himself  entered  into  so  far  as  to  cause  him  to  ride  on  an  elephant  to 
the  capitol,  and  to  hold  a  solemn  festival  on  his  coronation ;  at  which 
it  is  recorded  the  poet  himself  was  so  transported  as  to  weep  for  joy. 
He  was  ever  after  a  constant  frequenter  of  the  Pope's  table,  drank 
abundantly,  and    poured    forth    verses    without  number.— Paulus 
Jornus.    Some  idea  of  his  poetry  is  given  by  Fam.  Strada  in  his  Pro- 
lusions.— Warburton. 


136  THE  DUNCIAD. 

All  who  true  dunces  in  her  cause  appeared, 
And  all  who  knew  those  dunces  to  reward. 

Amid  that  area  wide  they  took  their  stand, 
Where  the  tall  May-pole  once  o'er-looked  the  Strand. 
But  now  (so  Anne  and  piety  ordain) 
A  church  collects  the  saints  of  Drury  Lane. 

With  authors,  stationers  obeyed  the  call, 
(The  field  of  glory  is  a  field  for  all). 
Glory   and  gain,  th'  industrious  tribe  provoke; 
And  gentle  Dulness  ever  loves  a  joke. 
A  poet's  form  she  placed  before  their  eyes, 
And  bade  the  nimblest  racer  seize  the  prize; 
No  meagre,  muse-rid  mope,  adust  and  thin, 
In  a  dun  night-gown  of  his  own  loose  skin; 
But  such  a  bulk  as  no  twelve  bards  could  raise, 
Twelve  starv'ling  bards  of  these  degenerate  days. 
All  as  a  partridge  plump,  full-fed,  and  fair, 
She  formed  this  image  of  well-bodied  air; 
With  pert  flat  eyes  she  windowed  well  its  head: 
A  brain  of  feathers,  and  a  heart  of  lead; 
And  empty  words  )he  gave,  and  sounding  strain, 
But  senseless,  lifeless !  idol  void  and  vain ! 
Never  was  dashed  out,  at  one  lucky  hit, 
A  fool,  so  just  a  copy  cf  a  wit; 
So  like,  that  critics  said,  Lnd  courtiers  swore, 
A  wit  it  was,  and  called  the  phantom  More.1 

All  gaze  with  ardour:  some  a  poet's  name, 
Others  a  sword-knot  and  laced  suit  inflame. 
But  lofty  Lintot2  in  the  circle  rose* 
"  This  prize  is  mine;  who  ternpt  it  are  my  foes; 
With  me  began  this  genius,  and  shall  end." 
He  spoke :  and  who  with  Lintot  shall  contend  ? 
,  Fear  held  them  mute.     Alone,  untaught  to  fear, 
Stood  dauntless  Curl,3  "  Behold  that  rival  here ! 


1  Curl,  in  his  "Key  to  the  Dunciad,"  affirmed  this  to  be  James 
Moore  Smythe.     He  wrote  "  The  Bival  Modes,"  an  unsuccessful 
play. 

2  We  enter  here  upon  the  episode  of  the  booksellers :  persons, 
whose  names  being  more  known  and  famous  in  the  learned  world 
than  those  of  the  authors  in  this  poem,  do  therefore  need  less  ex- 
planation.   The  action  of  Mr.  Bernard  Lintot  here  imitates  that  of 
Dares  in  Virgil,  rising  just  in  this  manner  to  lay  hold  on  a  bull. 
This  eminent  bookseller  printed  "  The  Rival  Modes  "  before  men- 
tioned.—  Warburton.    Pope. 

3  We  come  now  to  a  character  of  much  respect,  that  of  Mr.  Ed- 
mund Curl.    As  a  plain  repetition  of  great  actions  is  the  best  praise 
of  them,  we  shall  only  say  of  this  eminent  man  that  he  carried  the 


THE  DUNCIAD.  137 

• 

The  race  by  vigour,  not  by  vaunts  is  won; 

So  take  the  hindmost,  hell,"  (he  said),  and  run. 

Swift  as  a  bard  the  bailiff  leaves  behind, 

He  left  huge  Lintot  and  outstripped  the  wind. 

As  when  a  dab-chick  waddles  through  the  copse 

On  feet  and  wings,  and  flies,  and  wades,  and  hops: 

So  laboring  on,  with  shoulders,  hands,  and  head, 

Wide  as  a  wind-mill  all  his  figure  spread, 

With  arms  expanded  Bernard  rows  his  state, 

And  left-legged  Jacob1  seems  to  emulate. 

Full  in  the  middle  way  there  stood  a  lake, 

Which  Curl's  Corinna2  chanced  that  morn  to  make: 

(Such  was  her  wont,  at  early  dawn  to  drop 

Her  evening  cates  before  his  neighbour's  shop.) 

Here  fortuned  Curl  to  slide;  loud  shout  the  band, 

And  "Bernard!    Bernard!"   rings  through  all  the 

Strand. 

Obscene  with  filth  the  miscreant  lies  bewrayed, 
Fallen  in  the  plash  his  wickedness  had  laid: 
Then  first  (if  poets  aught  of  truth  declare) 
The  catiff  vaticide  conceived  a  prayer. 

"  Hear,  Jove !  whose  name  my  bards  and  I  adore, 
As  much  at  least  as  any  god's,  or  more : 
And  him  and  his  if  more  devotion  warms, 
Down  with  the  Bible,  up  with  the  Pope's  arms."3 

A  place  there  is,  betwixt  earth,  air,  and  seas,4 
Where,  from  Ambrosia,  Jove  retires  for  ease. 
There  in  his  seat  two  spacious  vents  appear, 

trade  many  lengths  beyond  what  it  ever  before  had  arrived  at;  and 
that  he  was  the  envy  and  admiration  of  all  his  profession.  He  pos- 
sessed himself  of  a  command  over  all  authors  whatever;  he  caused 
them  to  write  what  he  pleased ;  they  could  not  call  their  very  names 
their  own.  He  was  not  only  famous  among  these;  he  was  taken  no- 
tice of  by  the  State,  the  Church,  and  the  Law,  and  received  par- 
ticular marks  of  distinction  from  each.— Pope.  An  ironical  allusion 
to  his  standing  in  the  pillory.  Pope  had  a  quarrel  with  Curl.  See 
Life. 

1  Jacob.Tonson,  described  by  Dryden  with  "  two  left  legs." 

2  This  name,  it  seems,  was  taken  by  one  Mrs.  Thomas,  who  pro- 
cured some  private  letters  of  Mr.  Pope,  while  almost  a  boy,  to  Mr. 
Cromwell,  and  sold  them  without  the  consent  of  either  of  those  gen- 
tlemen to  Curl,  who  printed  them  in  12mo,  1727.    We  only  take  thm 
opportunity  of  mentioning  the  manner  in  which  those  letters  got 
abroad,  which  the  author  was  ashamed  of  as  very  trivial  things,  full 
not  only  of  levities,  but  of  .wrong  Judgments  of  men  and  books,  and 
only  excusable  from  the  youth  and  inexperience  of  the  writer. — War- 
burton.    Pope. 

3 The  Bible,  Curl's  sign;  the  Cross-keys,  the  Pope's  emblem, 
Llntot's. 

4  See  Lucian's  "  Icaro-Menipus,"  where  this  fiction  is  more  ex- 
tended, 


138  THE  DVNCIAD. 

On  this  he  sits,  to  that  he  leans  his  ear, 
And  hears  the  various  vows  of  fond  mankind; 
Some  beg  an  eastern,  some  a  western  wind: 
A 11  vain  petitions,  mounting  to  the  sky, 
With  reams  abundant  this  abode  supply; 
Amused  he  reads,  and  then  returns  the  bills 
Signed  with  that  Ichor  which  from  gods  distils. 

In  office  here  fair  Cloacina  stands, 
And  ministers  to  Jove  with  purest  hands. 
Forth  from  the  heap  she  picked  her  vot'ry's  prayer, 
And  placed  it  next  him,  a  distinction  rare ! 
Oft  had  the  goddess  heard  her  servant's  call, 
From  her  black  grottos  near  the  temple-wall, 
List'ning  delighted  to  the  jest  unclean 
Of  link-boys  vile,  and  watermen  obscene; 
Where  as  he  fished  her  nether  realms  for  wit, 
She  oft  had  favoured  him,  and  favours  yet. 
Renewed  by  ordure's  sympathetic  force, 
As  oiled  with  magic  juices1  for  the  course, 
Vigorous  he  rises;  from  the  effluvia  strong 
Imbibes  new  life,  and  scours  and  stinks  along; 
Re-passes  Lintot,  vindicates  the  race, 
Nor  heeds  the  brown  dishonours  of  his  face. 

And  now  the  victor  stretched  his  eager  hand, 
Where  the  tall  Nothing  stood,  or  seemed  to  stand; 
A  shapeless  shade,  it  melted  from  his  sight, 
Like  forms  in  clouds,  or  visions  of  the  night. 
To  seize  his  papers,  Curl,  was  next  thy  care; 
His  papers  light  fly  diverse,  tossed  in  air; 
Songs,  sonnets,  epigrams  the  winds  uplift, 
And  whisk  'em  back  to  Evans,  Young,  and  Swift.2 
Th'  embroidered  suit  at  least  he  deemed  his  prey; 
That  suit  an  unpaid  tailor3  snatched  away. 


1  Alluding  to  the  opinion  that  there  are  ointments  used  by  witches 
to  enable  them  to  fly  in  the  air,  &c.—  Warburton. 

2  Some  of  those  persons  whose  writings,  epigrams,  or  jests  he  had 
owned.    See  note  on  ver.  50.    Dr.  Evans,  of  St.  John's  College,  Ox- 
ford, author  of  the  "  Apparition,"  which  was  a  satire  on  Tyndal.— 
Warton. 

3  This  line  has  been  loudly  complained  of  in  "Mist,"  June  8,  dedic. 
to  Sawney,  and  others,  as  a  most  inhuman  satire  on  the  poverty  of 
poets;  but  it  is  thought  our  author  would*  be  acquitted  by  a  jury  of 
tailors.    To  me  this  instance  seems  unluckily  chosen ;  if  it  be  satire 
on  anybody,  it  must  be  on  a  bad  paymaster,  since  the  person  to 
whom  they  have  here  applied   it  was  a  man  of  fortune.    Not  but 
poets  may  well  be  jealous  of  so  great  a  prerogative  as  non-pay- 
ment;  which  Mr.  Dennis  so  far  asserts,  as  boldly  to  pronounce,  that 


THE  DUNCIAD.  139 

No  rag,  no  scrap,  of  all  the  beau,  or  wit, 
That  once  so  fluttered,  and  that  once  so  writ. 

Heaven  rings  with  laughter.     Of  the  laughter  vain, 
Dulness,  good  queen,  repeats  the  jest  again. 
Three  wicked  imps  of  her  own  Grub  Street  choir, 
She  decked  like  Congreve,  Addison,  and  Prior;1 
Mears,  Warner,  Wilkins2  run:  delusive  thought! 
Breval,  Bond,  Besaleel,  the  varlets  caught. 
Curl  stretches  after  Gay,  but  Gay  is  gone: 
He  grasps  an  empty  Joseph3  for  a  John; 
So  Proteus,  hunted  in  a  nobler  shape, 
Became,  when  seized,  a  puppy,  or  an  ape. 

To  him  the  "goddess  :     "  Son?  thy  grief  lay  down, 
And  turn  this  whole  illusion  on  the  town: 
As  the  sage  dame,  experienced  in  her  trade, 
By  names  of  toasts  retails  each  battered  jade; 
(When  hapless  Monseiur  much  complains  at  Paris 
Of  wrongs  from  Duchesses  and  Lady  Maries;) 
Be  thine,  my  stationer!  this  magic  gift; 
Cook~shall  be  Prior,4  and  Concanen,  Swift: 
So  shall  each  hostile  name  become  our  own, 
And  we  too  boast  our  Garth  and  Addison."5 

With  that  she  gave  him  (piteous  of  his  case, 
Yet  smiling  at  his  rueful  length  of  face) 

"  if  Homer  himself  was  not  in  debt,  it  was  because  nobody  would 
trust  him." — Pope. 

1  These  authors  being  such  whose  names  will  reach  posterity,  wo 
shall  not  give  any  account  of  them,  but  proceed  to  those  of  whom  it 
is  necessary. — Besaleel  Morris  was  author  of  some  satires  on  the 
translators  of  Homer,  with  many  other  things  printed  in  newspa- 
pers.— "  Bond  writ  a  satire  against  Mr.  Pope. — Captain  Breval  was 
author  of  the  « Confederates,'  an  ingenious  dramatic  performance, 
to  expose  Mr.  Pope,  Mr.  Gay,  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  and  some  ladies  of  qual- 
ity," says  Curl. —  Warburton. 

-  Booksellers,  and  printers  of  much  anonymous  stuff. 

3  Curl  printed  poems  under  the  name  of  J.  Gay  (Joseph  Gay)  to 
pass  them  off  for  Gay,  the  Poet's.    These  kinds  of  cheats  were  com- 
mon with  him. 

4  The  man  here  specified  writ  a  thing  called  "  The  Battle  of  Poets," 
in  which  Philips  and  Welsted  were  the  heroes,  and  Swift  and  Pope 
utterly  routed.    He  also  published  some  malevolent  things  in  the 
British,  London,  and  daily  journals;  and  at  the  same  time  wrote  let- 
ters to  Mr.  Pope  protesting  his  innocence.    His  chief  work  was  a 
translation  of  Hesiod,  to  which  Theobald  writ  notes  and  half  notes, 
which  he  carefully  owned. —  Warburton. 

5  Nothing  is  more  remarkable  than  our  author's  love  of  praising 
good  writers.    He  has  in  this  very  poem  celebrated  Mr.  Locke,  Sir 
Isaac  Newton,  Dr.  Barrow,  Dr.   Attertmry,   Mr.  Dryden,   Mr.  Con- 
greve, Dr.  Garth,  Mr.  Addison;  in  a  word,  almost  every  man  of  his 
time  that  deserved  it;  even  Gibber  himself  (presuming  him  to  be  the 
author  of  the  "  Careless  Husband  ").    It  was  very  difficult  to  have 
that  pleasure  in  a  poem  on  this  subject,  yet  he  has  found  means  to 
Insert,  their  panegyric,  and  has  made,  even  dulness  out  of  her  OWA 


140  THE  DUNCIAD. 

A  shaggy  tap'stry,1  worthy  to  be  spread 

On  Codrus  old,  or  Dunton's  modern  bed;2 

Instructive  work !  whose  wry-mouthed  portraiture 

Displayed  the  fates  her  confessors  endure. 

Earless  on  high  stood  unabashed  De  Foe, 

And  Tutchin3  flagrant  from  the  scourge  below. 

There  Ridpath,  Roper,4  cudgelled  might  ye  view; 

The  very  worsted  still  look  black  and  blue. 

Himself  among  the  storied  chiefs  he  spies,5 

As,  from  the  blanket,  high  in  air  he  flies; 

And  "Oh!"  (he  cried)  "what  street,  what  lane  but 

knows 

Our  purgings,  pumpings,  blanketings,  and  blows  ? 
In  ev'ry  loom  our  labours  shall  be  seen, 
And  the  fresh  vomit  run  forever  green !" 

See  in  the  circle  next,  Eliza6  placed, 
Two  babes  of  love  close  clinging  to  her  waist; 
Fair  as  before  her  works  she  stands  confessed, 
In  flowers  and  pearls  by  bounteous  KirkalT  dressed. 
The  goddess  then:  "  "Who  best  can  send  on  high 
The  salient  spout,  far  streaming  to  the  sky; 


mouth  pronounce  it.  It  must  have  been  particularly  agreeable  to 
him  to  celebrate  Dr.  Garth;  both  as  his  constant  friend,  and  as  he 
was  his  predecessor  in  this  kind  of  satire.  Garth's  "  Dispensary  " 
attacks  the  whole  body  of  the  apothecaries.—  Warburton. 

1  A  sorry  kind  of  tapestry  frequent  in  old  inns,  made  of  worsted  or 
some  coarser  stuff,  like  that  which  is  spoken  of  by  Donne— faces  as 
frightful  as  theirs  who  whip  Christ  in  old  hangings.    The  imagery 
woven  in  it  alludes  to  the  mantle  of  Cloanthus,  in  .En.  v. 

2  Of  Codrus  the  poet's  bed,  see  Juvenal,  describing  his  poverty 
very  copiously,  Sat.  iii.  203,  &c. 

John  Dunton  was  a  broken  bookseller,  and  abusive  scribbler;  he 
wrote  "  Neck  or  Nothing,"  a  violent  satire  on  some  ministers  of 
state;  a  libel  on  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  and  the  Bishop  of  Peter- 
borough, &c. —  Warburton. 

3  John  Tutchin,  author  of  some  vile  verses,  and  of  a  weekly  paper 
called  the  "  Observator :"  he  was  sentenced  to  be  whipped  through 
several  towns  in  the  west  of  England,  upon  which  he  petitioned 
King  James  II.  to  be  hanged.    When  that  prince  died  in  exile,  he 
wrote  an  invective  against  his  memory,  occasioned  by  some  humane 
elegies  on  his  death.    He  lived  to  the  time  of  Queen  Anne.—  War- 
burton. 

*  Authors  of  the  "Flying  Post"  and  "Post-boy,"  two  scandalous 
papers  on  different  sides,  for  which  they  equally  and  alternately  de- 
served to  be  cudgelled,  and  were  so.—  Warburton. 

5  The  history  of  Curl's  being  tossed  in  a  blanket,  and  whipped  by 
the  scholars  of  Westminster,  is  well-known.    See  Swift  and  Pope's 
"  Miscellanies." 

6  Eliza  Haywood ;  this  woman  was  authoress  of  some  scandalous 
books. — Miscellanies. 

7  The  name  of  an  engraver.   Some  of  this  lady's  works  were  printed 
in  four  volumes  in  12mo,  witll  fter  picture;  thus  dressed,  up  before 
them.—  Warburton, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  141 

His  be  you  Juno  of  majestic  size, 
With  cow-like  udders,  and  with  ox-like  eyes. 
This  China  Jordan  let  the  chief  o'ercorne. 
Eepienish,  not  ingloriously,  at  home." 

Osborne1  and  Curl  accept  the  glorious  strife, 
(Though  this  his  son  dissuades,  and  that  his  wife)* 
One  on  his  manly  confidence  relies; 
One  on  his  vigour  and  superior  size. 
First  Osborne  leaned  against  his  lettered  post; 
It  rose,  and  laboured  to  a  curve  at  most. 
So  Jove's  bright  bow  displays  its  watery  round, 
(Sure  sign  that  no  spectator  shall  be  drowned) 
A  second  effort  brought  but  new  disgrace: 
The  wild  Mseander  washed  the  artist's  face; 
Thus  the  small,  jet,  which  hasty  hands  unlock, 
Spirts  in  the  gard'ner's  eyes  who  turns  the  cock. 
Not  so  from  shameless  Curl;  impetuous  spread 
The  stream,  and  smoking  flourished  o'er  his  head. 
So  (famed  like  thee  for  turbulence  and  horns) 
Eridanus  his  humble  fountain  scorns; 
Through  half  the  heavens  he  pours  the  exalted  urn; 
His  rapid  waters  in  their  passage  burn. 
Swift  as  it  mounts,  all  follow  with  their  eyes: 
Still  happy  impudence  obtains  the  prize. 
Thou  triumphest,  victor  of  the  high-wrought  day, 
Arid  the  pleased  dame,  soft  smiling,  leadest  away. 
Osborne,  through  perfect  modesty  o'ercome, 
Crowned  with  the  Jordan,  walks  contented  home. 

But  now  for  authors  nobler  palms  remain; 
"Koom  for  my  lord!"  three  jockeys  in  his  train; 
Six  huntsmen  with  a  shout  precede  his  chair: 
He  grins,  arid  looks  broad  nonsense  with  a  stare. 
His  honour's  meaning  Dulness  thus  exprest, 
"  He  wins  this  patron,  who  can  tickle  best." 

He  chinks  his  purse,  and  takes  his  seat  of  state: 
"With  ready  quills  the  dedicators  wait; 
Now  at  his  head  the  dext'rous  task  commence, 

1  A  bookseller  in  Gray's  Inn,  very  well  qualified  by  his  impudence 
to  act  this  part ;  and  therefore  placed  here  instead  of  a  less  deserv- 
ing predecessor.  This  man  published  advertisements  for  a  year 
together,  pretending  to  sell  Mr.  Pope's  subscription  books  of  Homer's 
"  Iliad,"  at  half  the  price :  of  which  books  he  had  none,  but  cut  to 
the  size  of  them  (which  was  quarto)  the  common  books  in  folio,  with- 
out copper-plates,  on  a  worse  paper,  and  never  above  half  the  value. 
• —  Warburton. 

This  was  Osborne  whom  .Dr.  Jonnson  knocked  down  with,  a  book. 
See  Boswell. 


142  THE  DUNCIAD, 

And,  instant,  fancy  feels  th'  imputed  sense; 
Now  gentle  touches  wanton  o'er  his  face, 
He  struts  Adonis,  and  affects  grimace: 
Bolli1  the  feather  to  his  ear  conveys, 
Then  his  nice  taste  directs  our  operas: 
Bentely2  his  mouth  with  classic  flattery  opes, 
And  the  puffed  orator  bus£ts  out  in  tropes. 
But  Welsted3  most  the  poet's  healing  balm 
Strives  to  extract  from  his  soft,  giving  palm; 
Unlucky  Welsted !  thy  unf eeling  master, 
The  more  thou  ticklest,  gripes  his  fist  the  faster. 

While  thus  each  hand  promotes  the  pleasing  pain, 
And  quick  sensations  skip  from  vein  to  vein; 
A  youth  unknown  to  Phoebus,  in  despair,4 
Puts  his  last  refuge  all  in  heav'n  and  pray'r. 
What  force  have  pious  vows !     The  Queen  of  Love 
Her  sister  sends,  her  vot'ress,  from  above. 
As,  taught  by  Yenus,  Paris  learned  the  art 
To  touch  Achille's  only  tender  part;5 
Secure,  through  her,  the  noble  prize  to  carry, 
He  marches  off  his  grace's  secretary. 

"Now turn  to  diffrent  sports,"  (the  goddess  cries) 
"And  learn,  my  sons,  the  wondrous  power  of  noise. 
To  move,  to  raise,  to  ravish  ev'ry  heart, 
With  Shakespeare's  nature,  or  with  Jonson's  art, 
Let  others  aim:  'tis  yours  to  shake  the  soul 

1  Paolo  Antonio  Rolli,  an  Italian  poet,  and  writer  of  many  operas  in 
that  language,  which,  partly  by  the  help  of  his  genius,  prevailed  in 
England  near  twenty  years.    He  taught  Italian  to  some  fine  gentle- 
men, who  affected  to  direct  the  operas. —  Warburton.    He  translated 
"  Paradise  Lost "  with  spirit  and  elegance,  and  published  Marchel- 
li's  full  translation  oi  "  Lucretius."—  Warton. 

2  Not  spoken  of  the  famous  Dr.  Richard  Bentley,  but  of  one  Thos. 
Bently,  a  small  critic,  who  aped  his  uncle  in  a  little  Horace.     The  great 
one  was  intended  to  be  dedicated  to  tho  Lord  Halifax,  but  (on  a  change 
of  the  ministry)  was  given  to  the  Earl  of  Oxford  ;  for  which  reason  the 
little  one  was  dedicated  to  his  son  the  Lord  Harley. — Warburton. 

3  Leonard  "Welsted,  author  of  the  "  Triumvirate,"  or  a  letter  in  verse 
from  Pala3mon  to  Cselia  at  Bath,  which  was  meant  for  a  satire  on  Mr. 
Pope  and  some  of  his  friends  about  the  year  1718.    He  wrote  other 
things  which  we  cannot  remember. — Warburton. 

4  The  satire  of  this  episode,  being  levelled  at  the  base  flatteries  of 
authors  to  worthless  wealth  or  greatness,  concludes  here  with  an  excel- 
lent lesson  to  such  men  :  that  although  their  pens  and  praises  were  as 
exquisite  as  their  conceit  of  themselves,  yet  (even  in  their  own  mer- 
cenary views)  a  creature  unlettered,  whoserveth  the  passions,  or  pinij,- 
eth  to  the  pleasures  of  such  vain,  braggart,  puffed  nobility,  shall  with 
those   patrons    be   much  more  inward  and    of    them    much    higher 
re  wa  rd  ed. — Scribl. 

6  His  heel,  by  which  his  mother  had  held  him  when  she  dipped  him 
In  the  Styx, 


THE  DUNG  IAD.  143 

With  thunder  rumbling  from  the  mustard-bowl.1 
With  horns  and  trumpets  now  to  madness  swell, 
Now  sink  in  sorrows  with  a  tolling  bell; 
Such  happy  arts  attention  can  command, 
When  fancy  flags,  and  sense  is  at  a  stand. 
Improve  we  these.     Three  cat-calls  be  the  bribe 
Of  him,  whose  chatt'ring  shames  the  monkey  tribe: 
And  his  this  drum,  whose  hoarse  heroic  bass 
Drowns  the  loud  clarion  of  the  braying  ass." 

Now  thousand  tongues  are  heard  in  one  loud  din; 
The  monkey-mimics  rush  discordant  in; 
'Twas  chatt'ring,  grinning,  mouthing,  jabb'ring  all, 
And  noise  and  Norton,2  brangling  and  Breval, 
Dennis  and  dissonance,  and  captious  art, 
And  snip-snap  short,  and  interruption  smart, 
And  demonstration  thin,  and  theses  thick,  ^~A 

And  major,  minor,  and  conclusion  quick.  [wini 

"  Hold !"    (cried   the  queen),  "  a  cat-call  each  shall) 
Equal  your  merits !  equal  is  your  din ! 
But  that  this  well-disputed  game  may  end, 
Sound  forth,  my  brayers,  and  the  welkin  rend."    * 

As,  when  the  long-eared  milky  mothers  wait 
At  some  sick  misery  triple  bolted  gate, 
For  their  defrauded,  absent  foals  they  make 
A  moan  so  loud,  that  all  the  guild  awake: 
Some  sighs  Sir  Gilbert,  starting  at  the  bray, 
From  dreams  of  millions,  and  three  groats  to  pay. 
So  swells  each  wind-pipe:  ass  intones  to  ass; 
Harmonic  twang !  of  leather,  horn,  and  brass; 
Such  as  from  lab'ring  lungs  th'  enthusiast  blows, 
High  sound,  attempered  to  the  vocal  nose; 
Or  such  as  bellow  from  the  deep  divine;          [thine. 
There,  Webster!  pealed  thy  voice,  and  Whitfield!3 
But  far  o'er  all,  sonorous  Blackmore's4  strain; 
Walls,  steeples,  skies,  bray  back  to  him  again. 

I 

1  The  old  way  of  making  thunder  and  mustard  were  the  same ;  but 
since,  it  is  more  advantageously  performed  by  trough  a  of  wood  with 
stops  in  them.    Whether  Mr.  Dennis  was  the  inventor  of  that  improve- 
ment, I  know  not ;  but  it  is  certain,  that  being  once  at  a  tragedy  of  a 
new  author,  he  fell  into  a  great  passion  at  hearing  some,  and  cried, 
'"Sdeath!  that  is  my  thunder." — Warburton.    Pope. 

2  Norton  de  Foe,   one  of  the  authors  of  the   "  Flying  Post."    F: 
Durant  Breval,  author  of  a  very  extraordinary  book  of  travels,  and 
some  poems. 

3  The  one  the  writer  of  a  newspaper  called  the  "  Weekly  Miscellany," 
the  other  a  field  preacher,— 

*  Sir  R.  Blackmwrc, 


144  THE  DUNCIAD. 

In  Tott'nliam  fields,  the  brethren,  with  amaze, 
Prick  all  their  ears  up,  and  forget  to  graze; 
'Long  Chancery  Lane  retentive  rolls  the  sound, 
And  courts  to  courts  return  it  round  and  round; 
Thames  wafts  it  thence  to  Rufus'  roaring  hall,1 
And  Hungerford  re-echoes  bawl  for  bawL 
All  hail  him  victor  in  both  gifts  of  song, 
Who  sings  so  loudly,  and  who  sings  so  long.2 
This  labour  passed,  by  Bridewell  all  descend, 
(As  morning  pray'r  and  flagellation  end)3 
To  where  Fleet-ditch  with  disemboguing  streams 
Rolls  the  large  tribute  of  dead  dogs  to  Thames, 
The  king  of  dykes !  than  whom  no  sluice  of  mud 
With  deeper  sable  blots  the  silver  flood. 
"  Here  strip,  my  children !  here  at  once  leap  in, 
Here  prove  who  best  can  dash  through  thick  and 

thin, 

And  who  the  most  in  love  of  dirt  excel, 
Or  dark  dexterity4  of  groping  welL 
Who  flings  most  filth,  and  wide  pollutes  around 
The  stream,  be  his  the  weekly  journals5  bound; 
A  pig  of  lead  to  him  who  dives  the  best; 
A  peck  of  coals  a-piece  shall  glad  the  rest." 

1  Westminster  Hall,  built  by  Will.  Kufus. 

2  A  just  character  of  Sir  Richard  Blackmore,  knight,  who  (as  Mr. 
Drydeii  expresseth  it) 

"  Writ  to  the  rumbling  of  the  coach's  wheels," 

and  whose  indefatigable  muse  produced  no  less  than  six  epic  poems : 
"  Prince  and  King  Arthur,"  twenty  books;  "Eliza,"  ten;  "Alfred," 
twelve;  the  " Redeemer,"  six;  besides  "Job,"  in  folio;  the  whole 
"  Book  of  Psalms ;"  the  "  Creation,"  seven  books ;  "  Nature  of  Man," 
three  books ;  and  many  more.  'Tis  in  this  sense  lie  is  styled  after- 
wards the  everlasting  Blackmore.—  Pope. 

*  It  is  between  eleven  and  twelve  in  the  morning,  after  church  ser- 
vice, that  the  criminals  are  whipped  in  Bridewell.— This  is  to  mark 
punctually  the  time  of  the  day :  Homer  does  it  by  the  circumstance 
of  the  judges  rising  from  court,  or  of  the  labourer's  dinner;  our 
author  by  one  very  proper  both  to  the  persons  and  the  scene  of  his 
poem,  which  we  may  remember  commenced  in  the  evening  of  the 
Lord-mayor's  day: 'the  first  book  passed  in  that  night;  the  next 
morning  the  games  begin  in  the  Strand,  thence  along  Fleet  Street 
(places  inhabited  by  booksellers) ;  then  they  proceed  by  Bridewell 
toward  Fleet  Ditch,  and  lastly  through  Ludgate  to  the  city  and  the 
•Temple  of  the  Goddess.— Pope. 

4  The  three  chief  qualifications  of  party- writers :  to  stick  at  noth- 
*ng,  to  delight  in  flinging  dirt,  and  to  slander  in  the  dark  by  guess. 
.*  Pope. 

6  Papers  of  news  and  scandal  intermixed,  on  different  sides  and 
parties,  and  frequently  shifting  from  one  side  to  the  other,  called 
the  "  London  Journal,"  "  British  Journal,"  "  Daily  Journal,"  &c., 
the  concealed  writers  of  which  for  some  time  were  Oldmixon,  Roome, 
Arnall,  Concauen,  an.4  Qtiiers  j  persons  never  seen  Dy  our  author 


THE  DUNG  I  AD.  145 

In  naked  majesty  Oldmixon  stands,1 
And  Milo-like2  surveys  his  arms  and  hands; 
Then,  sighing,  thus,  "  And  am  I  now  three-score  ? 
Ah  why,  ye  gods,  should  two  and  two  make  four?" 
He  said,  and  climbed  a  stranded  lighter's  height, 
Shot  to  the  black  abyss,  and  plunged  downright. 
The  senior's  judgment  all  the  crowd  admire, 
"Who  but  to  sink  the  deeper,  rose  the  higher. 

Next  Smedley  dived3  slow  circles  dimpled  o'er 
The  quaking  mud,  that  closed,  and  oped  no  more. 
All  look,  all  sigh,  and  call  on  Smedley  lost; 
"  Smedley"  in  vain  resounds  through  all  the  coast. 

Then*  essayed;4  scarce  vanished  out  of  sight, 
He  buoys  up  instant,  and  returns  to  light: 
He  bears  no  token  of  the  sabler  streams, 
And  mounts  far  off  among  the  swans  of  Thames.5 

True  to  the  bottom  see  Concanen6  creep, 
A  cold,  long-winded  native  of  the  deep; 
If  perseverance  gain  the  diver's  prize, 
Not  everlasting  Blackmore  this  denies; 
No  noise,  no  stir,  no  motion  canst  thou  make, 
ThJ  unconscious  stream  sleeps  o'er  thee  like  a  lake. 

Next  plunged  a  feeble,  but  a  desp'rate  pack, 
With  each  a  sickly  brother  at  his  back: 
Sons  of  a  day!7  just  buoyant  on  the  flood, 
Then  numbered  with  the  puppies  in  the  mud. 
Ask  ye  their  names  ?  I  could  as  soon  disclose 
The  names  of  these  blind  puppies  as  of  those. 

1  Mr.  John  Oldmixon,  next  to  Mr.  Dennis,  the  most  ancient  critic 
of  our  nation;  an  unjust  censurer  of  Mr.  Addison,  in  his  "  Essay  on 
Criticism,"  whom  also,  in  his  imitation  of  Bouhours,  called  the 
"Arts  of  Logic  and  Rhetoric,"  he  misrepresents  in  plain  matter  of 
fact;  for,  in  p.  45,  he  cites  the  "  Spectator"  as  abusing  Dr.  Swift  by 
name,  when  there  is  not  the  least  hint  of  it.— P.  Oldmixon  was  also 
accused  of  falsifying  history,  and  writing  a  contemptible  and  wicked 
history  of  the  Stuarts. 

2  Milo  was  a  famous  athlete  of  Crotona,  in  Italy.    He  could  kill  a 
bullock  with  a  blow  of  his  fist. 

3  An  Irishman,  publisher  of  a  scurrilous  weekly  paper,  the  "White- 
hall Journal."    He  abused  Pope  and  Swift  vehemently. 

4  By*  it  is  supposed  that  Aaron  Hill  was  meant.    He  was  a  drama- 
tist and  manager  of  the  opera-house.    He  wrote  "Rinaldo,"  the 
first  opera  for  which  Handel  composed  music  in  England. 

6  An  elegant  compliment  to  Hill.  Pope  however,  denied  that  it 
was  meant  for  him. 

6  Matthew  Concanen,  an  Irishman,  bred  to  the  law.  He  was 
author  of  several  dull  and  dead  scurrilities  in  the  "  British"  and 
« London  Journals,  "  and  in  a  paper  called  the  "Speculatist."— 
Pope. 

i  These  were  daily  papers,  a  number  of  which,  to  lesson  the  ex- 
pense, were  printed  one  oil  the  back  o£  another,— 


146  THE  DVNCIAD. 

Fast  by,  like  Niobe  (her  children  gone), 

Sits  mother  Osborne,1  stupefied  to  stone ! 

And  monumental  brass  this  record  bears, 

"  These  are, — ah  no !  these  were,  the  gazetteers!" 

Not  so  bold  Arnall;2  with  a  weight  of  skull, 
Furious  he  dives,  precipitately  dull. 
Whirlpools  and  storms  his  circling  arm  invest, 
With  all  the  might  of  gravitation  blest. 
No  crab  more  active  in  the  dirty  dance, 
Downward  to  climb,  and  backward  to  advance. 
He  brings  up  half  the  bottom  on  his  head, 
And  loudly  claims  the  journals  and  the  lead. 

The  plunging  prelate,  and  his  pond'rous  grace,8 
With  holy  envy  gave  one  layman  place. 
When  lo !  a  burst  of  thunder  shook  the  flood; 
Slow  rose  a  form,  in  majesty  of  mud; 
Shaking  the  horrors  of  his  sable  brows, 
And  each  ferocious  feature  grim  with  ooze. 
Greater  he  looks,  and  more  than  mortal  stares; 
Then  thus  the  wonders  of  the  deep  declares. 

First  he  relates  how  sinking  to  the  chin, 
Smit  with  his  mien  the  mud-nymph  sucked  him  in: 
How  young  Lutetia,  softer  than  the  down, 
Nigrina  black,  and  Merdamante  brown, 
Vied  for  his  love  in  jetty  bowers  below, 
As  Hylas  fair4  was  ravished  long  ago. 
Then  sung,  how  shown  him  by  the  nut-brown  maids 
A  branch  of  Styx  here  rises  from  the  shades, 


1  A  name  assumed  by  the  eldest  and  gravest  of  these  writers,  who 
at  last,  being  ashamed  of  his  pupils,  gave  his  paper  over,  and  in  his 
age  remained  silent. — Pope. 

2  William  Arnall,  bred  an  attorney,  was  a  perfect  genius  in  this 
sort  of  work.    He  began  under  twenty  with  furious  party-papers  ; 
then   succeeded    Concanen  in  the  "British  Journal."    At  the  first 
publication  of  the  "Dunciad,"  he  prevailed  on  the  author  not  to 
give  him  his  due  place  in  it,  by  a  letter  professing  his  detestation  of 
such  practices  as  his  predecessor's.    But  since,  by  the  most  unex- 
ampled insolence,  and  personal   abuse  of  several  great  men,  the 
poet's  particular  friends,  he  most  amply  deserved  a  niche  in  the 
temple  of  infamy. — Witness  a  paper  called  the  "  Free  Briton."     P. — 
He  was  one  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole's  hired  writers  and  boasted  of  the 
money  he  received  from  the  Treasury.     "He  had  great  talents," 
Bowles    tells  us,  "  but  was    vain    and  careless,  and  after  having 
acquired  sufficient  for  competence,  if  not  for  perfect  ease,  he  de- 
stroyed himself ,  having  squandered  as  fast  as  he  received." 

8  It  was  imagined  that  Pope  meant  Bishop  Sherlock,  whom  Boling- 
broke  attacked  for  defending  the  measures  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole. — 
Warton. 

*  A  youth  carried  off  by  the  water-nymphs.    See  Virgil,  Eel,  vi,— 


THE  DVNCIAD.  147 

That  tinctured  as  it  runs  with  Lethe's  streams,1 
And  wafting  vapours  from  the  land  of  dreams, 
(As  under  seas  Alpheus'  secret  sluice2 
Bears  Pisa's  offrings  to  his  Arethuse) 
Pours  into  Thames:  and  hence  the  mingled  wave 
Intoxicates  the  pert,  and  lulls  the  grave: 
Here  brisker  vapours  o'er  the  temple  creep, 
There,  all  from  Paul's  to  Aldgate  drink  and  sleep. 

Thence  to  the  banks  where  rev'rend  bards  repose, 
They  led  him  soft;  each  rev'rend  bard  arose; 
And  Milbourn3  chief,  deputed  by  the  rest, 
Gave  him  the  cassock,  surcingle,  and  vest.        [mine, 
"Keceive"  (he  said)  "these  robes  which  once  were 
Dulness  is  sacred  in  a  sound  divine." 

He  ceased  and  spread  the  robe;  the  crowd  confess 
The  rev'rend  Fla'men  in  his  lengthened  dress. 
Around  him  wide  a  sable  army  stand, 
A  low-born,  cell-bred,  selfish,  servile  band, 
Prompt  or  to  guard  or  stab,  to  saint  or  damn, 
Heav'n's  Swiss,  who  fight  for  any  God,  or  man.4 

Through  Lud's  famed  gates,5  along  the  well-known 

Fleet, 

Rolls  the  black  troop,  and  overshades  the  street; 
Till  show'rs  of  sermons,  characters,  essays, 
In  circling  fleeces  whiten  all  the  ways: 
So  clouds,  replenished  from  some  bog  below, 
Mount  in  dark  volumes,  and  descend  in  snow. 
Here  stopt  the  goddess;  and  in  pomp  proclaims 
A  gentler  exercise  to  close  the  games. 

"  Ye  critics  !  in  whose  heads,  as  equal  scales, 

1  The  Kiver  of  Oblivion. 

2  See  Shelley's  "  Arethusa." 

3  Luke  Milbourn,  a  clergyman,  the  fairest  of  critics;  who,  when  he 
wrote  against  Mr.  Dryden's  "  Virgil,",  did  him  justice  in  printing  at 
the  same  time  his  own  translations  of  him,  which  were  intolerable. 
His  manner  of  writing  has  a  great  resemblance  with  that  of  the 
gentlemen  of  the  "  Dunciad  "  against  our  author. — Pope. 

4  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  satire  in  these  lines  will  be  understood 
in  the  confined  sense  in  which  the  author  meant  it,  of  such  only  of 
the  clergy  who,  though  solemnly  engaged  in  the  service  of  religion 
dedicate  themselves  for  venal  and  corrupt  ends  to  the  service  of 
ministers  and  factions,  and  employ  themselves  in  corrupting  re- 
ligion by  superstition  or  betraying  it  by  libertinism,  as  either  was 
thought  best  to  serve  the  ends  of  policy  or  flatter  the  follies  of  the 
great.— Pope.    When  we  remember  the  picture  Macaulay  has  drawn 
of  the  clergy  of  that  day,  we  may  excuse  Pope's  severity  on  the  worst 
of  them. 

*KAjigLud,  repairing  the  city,  called  the  strong  gate  lie  built  in 
fad  west  part,  Lutlgatc,— Stowe's  tiurvey  of  London, 


148  THE  DUNCIAD. 

I  weigh  what  author's  heaviness  prevails; 
AVliich  most  conduce  to  soothe  the  soul  in  slumbeis, 
My  Henley's  periods,1  or  my  Blackmore's  numbers; 
Attend  the  trial  we  propose  to  make; 
If  there  be  man,  who  o'er  such  works  can  wake,  — 
Sleep's  all-subduing  charms  who  dares  defy, 
And  boasts  Ulysses'  ear  writh  Argus'  eye; 
To  him  we  grant  our  amplest  powers  to  sit " 
Judge  of  all  present,  past,  and  future  wit; 
\  To  cavil,  censure,  dictate,  right  or  wrong; 
Full  and  eternal  privilege  of  tongue." 

Three  college  sophs,  and  three  pert  templars  came. 
The  same  their  talents,  arid  their  tastes  the  same; 
Each  prompt  to  query,  answer,  and  debate, 
And  smit  with  love  of  poesy  and  prate, 
The  pond'rous  books  two  gentle  readers  bring; 
The  heroes  sit,  the  vulgar  form  a  ring. 
The  clam'rous  crowd  is  hushed  with  mugs  of  mum, 
Till  all,  tuned  equal,  send  a  general  hum. 
Then  mount  the  clerks,  and  in  one  lazy  tone 
Through  the  long,  heavy,  painful  page  drawl  on; 
Soft  creeping,  words  on  words,  the  sense  compose; 
And  ev'ry  line  they  stretch,  they  yawn,  they  doze. 
As  to  soft  gales  top-heavy  pines  bow  low 
Their  heads,  and  lift  them  as  they  cease  to  blow 
Thus  oft  they  rear,  and  oft  the  head  decline, 
As  breathe,  or  pause,  by  fits,  the  airs  divine. 
And  now  to  this  side,  now  to  that  they  nod, 
As  verse,  or  prose,  infuse  the  drowsy  god. 
Thrice  Budgel  aimed  to  speak,2  but  thrice  supprest 
By  potent  Arthur,3  knocked  his  chin  and  breast. 
Toland  and  Tindal,  prompt  at  priests  to  jeer,4 

1  The  Rev.  John  Henley,  commonly  called  "  Orator  Henley."    Dis- 
appointed of  obtaining  preferment  in  the  Church,  he  took  to  lectur- 
ing on  politics  on  Sunday  evenings,  near  Lincoin's-inn-fields.     Ho- 
garth caricatured  him. 

2  Famous  for  his  speeches  on  many  occasions  about  the  South  Sea 
scheme,  &c.     "  He  is  a  very  ingenious  gentleman,  and  hath  written 
some  excellent  epilogues  to  plays,  and  one  small  piece  on  love,  which 
is  very  pretty."— Jacob,  "  Lives  of  Poets."    But  this  gentleman  since 
made  himself  much  more  eminent,  and  personally  well  known  to 
the  greatest  statesmen  of  all  parties,  as  well  as  to  all  the  courts  of 
law  in  this  nation.—  Warburton. 

3  Blackmore's  "  Epic  Poem." 

*  Two  persons,  not  so  happy  as  to  be  obscure,  who  writ  against  the 
religion  of  their  country.  Toland,  the  author  of  the  "Atheist's 
Liturgy,"  calle  I  Pantheisticon,  was  a  spv,  in  pay  to  Lord  Oxford. 
Tindal  was  author  of.  the  "Rights  o£  the  Christian  Church,"  an.cl 


THE  DUNCIAD.  119 

Yet  silent  bowed  to  "  Christ's  no  kingdom  here."1 

Who  sate  the  nearest,  by  the  words  o'ercome 

Slept  first;  the  distant  nodded  to  the  hum.          [lies 

Then  down  are  rolled  the  books;  stretched  o'er  them 

Each  gentle  clerk,  and  muttering  seals  his  eyes. 

As  what  a  Dutchman  plumps  into  the  lakes, 

One  circle  first,  and  then  a  second  makes; 

What  Dulness  dropt  among  her  sons  imprest 

Like  motion,  from  one  circle  to  the  rest; 

So  from  the  mid-most  the  nutation  spreads 

Round  and  more  round,  o'er  all  the  sea  of  heads. 

At  last  Centlivre2  felt  her -voice  to  fail; 

Motteux3  himself  unfinished  left  his  tale; 

Boyer  the  state,  and  Law  the  stage  gave  o'er;4 

Morgan5  and  Mandevil6  could  prate  no  more; 

Norton,7  from  Daniel  and  Ostroea  sprung, 

Blessed  with  his  father's  front,  and  mother's  tongue, 

Hung  silent  down  his  never- blushing  head; 

And  all  was  hushed,  as  folly's  self  lay  dead. 

Thus  the  soft  gifts  of  sleep  conclude  the  day, 
And  stretched  on  bulks,  as  usual,  poets  lay. 
Why  should  I  sing,  what  bards  the  nightly  muse 
Did  slumb'ring  visit,  and  convey  to  stews; 
Who  prouder  marched,  with  magistrates  in  state, 
To  some  famed  round-house,  ever  open  gate ! 

"  Christianity  as  old  as  the  Creation."    He  also  wrote  an  abusive 
pamphlet  against  Earl  Stanhope.—  Warburton. 

1  This  is  said  by  Curl,  "  Key  to  Dune.,"  to  allude  to  a  sermon  of  a 
reverend  bishop.    The  bishop  was  Hoadley,  bishop  of  Bangor.    The 
sermon  alluded  to  was  preached  before  George  I.  at  St.  James's, 
1717,  and  published  by  his  special  command :  it  soon  went  through 
many  editions.     It  occasioned  the  Bangorian  Controversy.     Hoad- 
ley had  attacked  Bishop  Atterbury,  Pope's  dear  friend.—  Wdkefidd. 

2  Mrs.  Susanna  Centlivre,  wife  to  Mr.  Centlivre,  Yeoman  of  the 
Mouth  to  his  Majesty.    She  writ  many  plays,  and  a  song  (says  Mr. 
Jacob,  vol.  I.  p.  32),  before  she  was  seven  years  old.    She  also  writ  a 
ballad  against  Mr.  Pope's  "  Homer  "  before  he  began  it.— Pope..  Mrs. 
Centlivre  wrote  a  •"  Bold  Stroke  for  a  Wife,"  "  The  Busy  Body,"  and 
"  The  Wonder."    She  was  born  1680,  and  died  1723.    Her  plays  were 
thought  clever,  but  are  coarse. 

3  Peter  Anthony  Motteux,  the  excellent  translator  of  "  Don  Quix- 
ote."    Dryden  addressed  a  complimentary  epistle  to  him.   He  died 
in  1718. 

4  A.  Boyer,  a  voluminous  compiler  of  annals,  political  collections, 
&c. — William  Law,  A.  M.,  wrote  with  great  zeal  against  the  stage; 
Mr.  Dennis  answered  with  as  great.   Their  books  were  printed  in 
1726.     Law  wrote  the  "  Serious  Call  to  a  Devout  and  Holy  Life," 
which  Dr.  Johnson  said  first  led  him  to  think  seriously. 

6  A  writer  against  Religion. 

c  Author  of  the  "  Fable  of  the  Bees,"a  very  immoral  book, 

f  One  o£  the  authors  of.  the  »  Flying  Post." 


150  THE  DUNCIAD. 

How  Henley  lay  inspired  beside  a  sink, 
And  to  mere  mortals  seemed  a  priest  in  drink: 
While  others,  timely,  to  the  neighb'ring  Fleet1 
(Haunt  of  the  muses)  made  their  safe  retreat 


BOOK    III. 

ARGUMENT. 

After  the  other  persons  are  disposed  in  their  proper  places  of  rest,  the 
goddess  transports  the  king  to  her  temple,  and  there  lays  him  to 
slumher  with  his  head  on  her  lap,  a  position  of  marvellous  virtue, 
which  causes  all  the  visions  of  wild  enthusiasts,  projectors,  politi- 
cians, inamoratas,  castle-huilders,  chemists,  and  poets.  He  is 
immediately  carried  on  the  wings  of  fancy,  and  led  by  a  mad  poeti- 
cal sib}rl  to  the  Elysian  shade ;  where,  oil  the  hanks  of  the  Lethe, 
the  souls  of  the  dull  are  dipped  by  Bavins,  before  their  entrance 
into  this  world.  There  he  is  met  by  the  ghost  of  Settle,  and  by  him 
made  acquainted  with  the  wonders  of  the  place,  and  with  those 
which  he  himself  is  destined  to  perform.  He  takes  him  to  a  mount 
of  vision,  from  whence  he  shows  him  the  past  triumphs  of  the 
empire  of  Dulness,  then  the  present,  and  lastly  the  future :  how 
email  a  part  of  the  world  was  ever  conquered  by  science,  how  soon 
those  conquests  were  stopped,  and  those  very  nations  again 
reduced  to  her  dominion.  Then  distinguishing  the  island  of  Great 
Britain,  shows  by  what  aids,  by  what  persons,  and  by  what  degrees 
it  shall  be  brought  to  her  empire.  Some  of  the  persons  he  causes 
to  pass  in  review  before  his  eyes,  describing  each  by  his  proper 
figure,  character,  and  qualifications.'  On  a  sudden  the  scene  shifts, 
and  a  vast  number  of  miracles  and  prodigies  appear,  utterly  sur- 
prising and  unknown  to  the  king  himself,  till  they  are  explained  to 
oe  the  wonders  of  his  own  reign  now  commencing.  On  this  subject 
Settle  breaks  into  a  congratulation,  yet  not  unmixed  with  concern^ 
that  his  own  times  were  but  types  "of  these.  He  prophesies  how 
first  the  nation  shall  be  overrun  with  farces,  operas,  and  shows: 
how  the  throne  of  dulness  shall  be  advanced  over  the  theatres, 
and  set  up  even  at  court ;  then  how  her  sons  shall  preside  in  the 
seats  of  arts  and  sciences :  giving  a  glimpse  or  Pisgah-sight  of  tiie 
future  fulness  of  her  glory,  the  accomplishment  whereof  is  the 
subject  of  the  fourth  a  Lid  la.-^t  book. 

BOOK  m. 

BUT  in  her  temple's  last  recess  enclosed, 
On  Dulness'  lap  th'  anointed  head  reposed. 
Him  close  she  curtains  round  with  vapours  blue, 
And  soft  besprinkles  with  Cimmerian  dew. 
Then  raptures  high  the  seat  of  sense  o'erflow, 
Which  only  heads  refined  from  reason  know. 
Hence,  from  the  straw  where  Bedlam's  prophet  nods, 

J  A  prison  for  insolvent  debtors  on  the  banks  of  Fleet  Ditch.—  War- 
burton. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  151 

He  hears  loud  oracles,  and  talks  with  gods: 
Hence  the  fool's  paradise,  the  statesman's  scheme, 
The  air-built  castle,  and  the  golden  dream, 
The  maid's  romantic  wish,  the  chemist's  flame,1 
And  poet's  vision  of  eternal  fame. 

And  now,  on  fancy's  easy  wing  conveyed, 
The  king  descending  views  the  Elysian  shade. 
A  slip-shod  sibyl  led  his  steps  along, 
In  lofty  madness  meditating  song; 
Her  tresses  staring  from  poetic  dreams, 
And  never  washed,  but  in  Castalia's  streams. 
Taylor,2  their  better  Charon,  lends  an  oar, 
(Once  swan  of  Thames,  though  now  he  sings  no  more). 
Benlowes,3  propitious  still  to  blockheads,  bows; 
And  Shadwell  nods  the  poppy4  on  his  brows. 
Here,  in  a  dusky  vale  where  Lethe  rolls, 
Old  Bavius  sits,5  to  dip  poetic  souls, 
And  blunt  the  sense,  and  fit  it  for  a  skull 
Of  solid  proof  impenetrably  dull: 
Instant,  when  dipped,  away  they  wing  their  flight, 
Where  Brown  and  Mears6  unbar  the  gates  of  ligftt, 

1  Alluding  to  the  search  for  the  Philosopher's  Stone. 

2  John  Taylor,  the  water-poet,  an  honest  man,  who  owns  he  learned 
not  so  much  as  the  accidence :  a  rare  example  of  modesty  in  a  poet ! 

"  I  must  confess  I  do  want  eloquence, 
And  never  scarce  did  learn  my  accidence ; 
For  having  got  from  possum  to  posset, 
I  there  was  gravelled,  could  no  further  get." 

He>  >n:ote  four  score  books  in  the  reign  of  James  I.,  and  Charles  I.,  and 
afterwards  (like  Edward  Ward)  kept  an  ale-house  in  Long  Acre.  He 
died  in  1654.  P. 

3  A  country  gentleman,   famous  for  his  own  bad  poetry,  and  for 
patronizing  bad  poets,  as  may  be  seen  from  many  dedications  "of  Quarles 
and  others  to  him.    Some  of  these  anagrammed  his  name,  Beulowes 
into  Benevolus :  to  verify  whick  he  spent  his  whole  estate  upon  them. 
— Pope. 

4  Shadwell  took  opium  for  many  years,  aud  died  of  too  large  a  dose, 
in  the  year  1GU2. —  Warburton.  • 

6  Bavius  was  an  ancient  poet,  celebrated  by  Yirgil  for  the  like  cause 
as  Bays  by  our  author,  though  not  in  so  Christian-like  a  manner: 
for  heathenishly  it  is  declared  by  Virgil  of  Bavius,  that  he  ought  to  be 
hated  and  detested  for  his  evil  works  ;  Qui  Bavium  non  odit ;  whereas 
we  have  often  had  occasion  to  observe  our  poet's  great  good  nature  and 
mercifulness  through  the  whole  course  of  this  poem. — Scriblerus. — Pope. 

Mr.  Dennis  warmly  contends,  that  Bavius  was  no  inconsiderable 
author;  nay,  that  "He  and  Ma3vius  had  (even  in  Augustus's  days)  a 
very  formidable  party  at  Home,  who  thought  them  much  superior  to 
Virgil  and  Horace:  for  (saith  he)  I  cannot  believe  they  would  have 
fixed  that  eternal  brand  upon  them,  if  they  had  not  been  coxcombs  in 
more  than  ordinary  credit." — ''Item,  on  Prince  Arthur,"  part  ii.  c.  1. 
An  argument  which,  if  this  poem  should  last,  will  conduce  to  the 
honour  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  "Demoted." — Pope. 

c  Booksellers,  printers  for  anybody. 


152  THE  DUNCTAD. 

Demand  new  bodies,  and  in  calf's  array 
Rush  to  the  world,  impatient  for  the  day. 
Millions  and  millions  on  these  banks  he  views, 
Thick  as  the.  stars  of  night  or  morning  dews, 
As  thick  as  bees  o'er  vernal  blossoms  fly, 
As  thick  as  eggs  at  Ward  in  pillory.1 

Wondering  he  gazed :  when  lo !  a  sage  appears, 
By  his  broad  shoulders  known,  and  length  of  ears> 
Known  by  the  band  and  suit  which  Settle2  wore 
(His  only  suit)  for  twice  three  years  before: 
Ah1  as  the  vest,  appeared  the  wearer's  frame, 
Old  in  new  state,  another,  yet  the  same. 
Bland  and  familiar  as  in  life,  begun 
Thus  the  great  father  to  the  greater  son. 

"  Oh,  born  to  see  what  none  can  see  awake ! 
Behold  the  wonders  of  th'  oblivious  lake. 
Thou,  yet  unborn,  hast  touched  this  sacred  shore; 
The  hand  of  Bavius  drenched  thee  o'er  and  o'er. 
But  blind  to  former,  as  to  future  fate, 
What  mortal  knows  his  pre-existent  state  ? 
Who  knows  how  long  thy  transmigrating  soul 
Might  from  Boeotian  to  Boeotian  roll  ?3 
How  many  Dutchmen  she  vouchsafed  to  thrid  ? 
How  many  stages  through  old  monks  she  rid  ? 
And  all  who  since,  in  mild  benighted  days, 
Mixed  the  owl's  ivy  with  the  poet's  bays. 
As  man's  meanders  to  the  vital  spring 
Roll  at  their  tides;  then  back  their  circles  bring; 
Or  whirligigs  twirled  round  by  skilful  swain, 
Suck  the  thread  in,  then  yield  it  out  again: 
All  nonsense  thus,  of  old  or  modern  date, 
Shall  in  thee  centre,  from  thee  circulate. 
For  this  our  queen  unfolds  to  vision  true 
Thy  mental  eye,  for  thou  hast  much  to  view: 
Old  scenes  of  glory,  times  long  cast  behind 
Shall,  first  recalled,  rush  forward  to  thy  mind: 
Then  stretch  thy  sight  o'er  all  her  rising  reign, 
And  let  the  past  and  future  fire  thy  brain. 

1  John  Ward  of  Hackney,  Esq.,  Member  of  Parliament,  being  con- 
victed of  forgery,  w;is  first  expelled  the  House,  and  tiieii  sentenced  to 
the  pillory  on  the  17th  of  February,  1727. — Pope. 

2  Elkanah  Settle  was  once  a  writer  in  vogue  as  well  as  Gibber,  both 
for  dramatic  poetry  and  politics.  —Pope.    He  was  at  one  time  thought 
to  rival  Drydeu  ! 

3  Boetia   was    famed   for   duluess,    but    it    produced    Pindar   and 
Epuimnondas. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  153 

"  Ascend  tliis  hill,  whose  cloudy  point  commands 
Her  boundless  empire  over  seas  and  lands. 
See,  round  the  Poles  where  keener  spangles  shine, 
Where  spices  smoke  beneath  the  burning  line, 
(Earth's  wide  extremes)  hor  sable  flag  displayed, 
And  all  the  nations  covered  in  her  shade. 

"  Far  eastward  cast  thine  eye,  from  whence  the  sun 
And  orient  science  their  bright  course  begun: 
One  god-like  monarch1  all  that  pride  confounds, 
He,  whose  long  wall  the  wandering  Tartar  bounds 
Heavens !  what  a  pile !  whole  ages  perish  there, 
And  one  bright  blaze  turns  learning  into  air.  — - 

"  Thence  to  the  south  extend  thy  gladdened  eyes; 
There  rival  flames  with  equal  glory  rise, 
From  shelves  to  shelves  see  greedy  Vulcan  roll/ 
And  lick  up  ah1  the  physic  of  the  soul. 
How  little,  mark !  that  portion  of  the  ball, 
Where,  faint  at  best,  the  beams  of  science  fall: 
Soon  as  they  dawn,  from  hyperborean  skies 
Embodied  dark,  what  clouds  of  Vandals  rise ! 
Lo !  where  Mseotis  sleeps,  hardly  flows 
The  freezing  Tanais  through  a  waste  of  snows, 
The  north  by  myriads  pours  her  mighty  sons, 
Great  nurse  of  Goths,  of  Alans,  and  of  Huns ! 
See  Alaric's  stern  port  !3  the  martial  frame 
Of  Genseric  !4  and  Attila's5  dread  name ! 
See  the  bold  Ostrogoths  on  Latium  fall; 
See  the  fierce  Visigoths  on  Spain  and  Gaul! 
See,  where  the  morning  gilds  the  palmy  shore 
(The  soil  that  arts  and  infant  letters  bore,6) 
His  conquering  tribes  th'  Arabian  prophet7  draws, 
And  saving  ignorance  enthrones  by  laws. 
See  Christians,  Jews,  one  heavy  sabbath  keep, 
And  all  the  western  world  believe  and  sleep. 

1  Chi  Ho-am-ti,  Emperor  of  China,  the  same  who  built  the  great  wall 
between  China  and  Tartary,  destroyed  all  the  books  and  learned  meu 
of  that  empire. —  Warburton. 

2  The  Caliph,  Omar  I., having  conquered  Egypt,  caused  his  General  to 
burn  the  Ptolemaean  library,  on  the  gates  of  which  was  this  inscription, 
#YXH2IATPEION,  the  physic  of  the  soul.— Warburton. 

3  Alaric,  King  of  the  Visigoths;  he  took  Borne,  A.  D.  410. 

4  A  famous  Vandal  Prince ;  he  sacked  Rome,  455,  A.  D. 
6  King  of  the  Huns,  called  the  "  Scourge  of  God." 

6  Phoenicia,  Syria,  &c.,  where  letters  are  said  to  have  been  la- 
Tented.    In  these  countries  Mah.om.et  began  his  conquests, 

7  M 


154  THE  DUNCIAD. 

"  Lo !  Rome  herself  proud  mistress  now  no  more 
Of  arts,  but  thundering  against  heathen  lore: 
Her  grey-haired  synods  damning  books  unread, 
And  Bacon  trembling  for  his  brazen  head.1 
Padua,  with  sighs,  beholds  her  Livy  burn, 
And  even  the  antipodes  Yirgilius  mourn. 
See  the  cirque  falls,  the  iinpillared  temple  nods, 
Streets  paved  with  heroes,  Tiber  choked  with  gods: 
Till  Peter's  keys  some  christened  Jove  adorn,2 
And  Pan  to  Moses  lends  his  pagan  horn; 
See,  graceless  Venus  to  a  virgin  turned, 
Or  Phidias  broken,  and  Apelles  burned. 

"  Behold,  yon  isle,  by  palmers,  pilgrims  trod, 
Men  bearded,  bald,  cowled,  uncowled,  shod,  unshod, 
Peeled,  patched,  and  piebald,  linsey-wolsey  brothers, 
Grave  mummers!    sleeveless    some,   and    shirtless 

others. 

That  once  was  Britain — happy!  had  she  seen 
No  fiercer  sons,  had  Easter  never  been.3 
In  peace,  great  goddess,  ever  be  adored; 
How  keen  the  war,  if  Dulness  draw  the  sword ! 
Thus  visit  not  thy  own !  on  this  blest  age 
Oh  spread  thy  influence,  but  restrain  thy  rage ! 

"  And  see  my  son !  the  hour  is  on  its  way, 
That  lifts  our  goddess  to  imperial  sway: 
This  fav'rite  isle,  long  severed  from  her  reign, 
Dove-like,  she  gathers4  to  her  wings  again. 
Now  look  through  fate !  behold  the  scene  she  draws! 
"What  aids,  what  armies  to  assert  her  cause ! 
See  all  her  progeny,  illustrious  sight ! 
Behold,  and  count  them,  as  they  rise  to  light. 

*  Friar  Bacon,  who  had  a  head  made  of  brass,  through  which,  by 
means  of  the  now  well-known  acoustic  pipes,  he  called  his  servant. 
The  head  was  believed  to  be  magical,  and  he  was  in  some  danger  of 
being  burned  for  a  magician. 

2  After  the  government  of  Rome  devolved  to  the  popes,  their  zeal 
was  for  some  time  exerted  in  demolishing  the  heathen  temples  and 
statues,  so  that  the  Goths  scarce  destroyed  more  monuments  of  an- 
tiquity out  of  rage,  than  these  out  of  devotion.    At  length  they  spared 
some  of  the  temples  by  converting  them  to  churches ;  and  some  of 
the  statues,  by  modifying  them  into  images  of  saints.    In  much  later 
times,  it  was  thought  necessary  to  change  the  statues  of  Apollo  and 
Pallas,  on  the  tomb  of  Sannazarius,  into  David  and  Judith ;   the  lyre 
easily  became  a  harp,  and  the  Gorgon's  head  turned  to  that  of  Holo- 
lernes. —  Warburton.     The  image  of  St.  Peter  in  the  great  Church  at 
Home  was  said  to  be  an  ancient  one  of  Jupiter. 

3  Wars  in  England  anciently,  about  the  right  time  of  celebrating 
Easter.  P. 

*  This  is  fulfilled  in  the  fourth  book,  J>( 


THE  DUNCIAD.  155 

As  Berecynthia,1  while  her  offspring  vie 

In  homage  to  the  mother  of  the  sky, 

Surveys  around  her,  in  the  blest  abode, 

An  hundred  sons,  and  ev'ry  son  a  god: 

Not  with  less  glory  mighty  Dulness  crowned 

Shall  take   through   Grub    Street   her  triumphant 

round; 

And  her  Parnassus  glancing  o'er  at  once, 
Behold  an  hundred  sons,  and  each  a  dunce,     [place, 

"Mark  first  that  youth  who  takes  the  foremost 
And  thrusts  his  person  full  into  your  face. 
With  all  thy  father's  virtues  blest,  be  born ! 
And  a  new  Gibber  shall  the  stage  adorn. ! 

"  A  second  see,  by  meeker  manners  known, 
And  modest  as  the  maid  that  sips  alone; 
From  the  strong  fate  of  drams  if  thou  get  free, 
Another  Durfey,  Ward3  shall  sing  in  thee. 
Thee  shall  each  ale-house,  thee  each  gill-house  mourn, 
And  answering  gin-shops  sourer  sighs  return. 

"Jacob,  the  scourge  of  grammar,  mark  with  awe.4 
Nor  less  revere  him,  blunderbuss  of  law. 
Lo,  Popple's  brow,  tremendous  to  the  town, 
Horneck's  fierce  eye,  and  Koome's5  funereal  frown. 

1  See  Virgil,  Eneid  VI.— Pope. 

2  Gibber's  son  Theophilus.    He  wrote  a  ballad  opera  called  "Pattie 
and  Peggy." 

3  Ward  has  been  spoken  of  before.     He  kept  a  public-house,  and 
was  the  author  of  some  pointed  things  against  Pope,  in  prose  and 
verse.— Bowles. 

4  This  gentleman .  is  son  of  a  considerable  malster  of  Komsey, 
in  Southamptonshire,  and  bred  to  the  law  under  a  very  eminent  at- 
torney :  who,  between  his  more  laborious  studies,  has  diverted  him- 
self with  poetry.    He  is  a  great  admirer  of  poets  and  their  works, 
which  has  occasioned  him  to  try  his  genius  that  way.— He  has  writ 
in  prose  the  "•  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  "Essays,"  and  a  great  many  law- 
books,  "The  Accomplished  Conveyancer,"  "Modern  Justice,"  &c. 
Giles  Jacob  of  himself,  "  Lives  of  Poets,"  vol.  i.     He  very  grossly, 
and  unprovoked,  abused,  in  that  book  the  author's  friend,  Mr.  Gay. 
—  Warburton. 

*  These  two  were  virulent  party- writers,  worthily  coupled  to- 
gether, and  one  would  think  prophetically,  since,  after  the  publish- 
ing of  this  piece,  the  former  dying,  the  latter  succeeded  him  in 
honour  and  employment.  The  first  was  Philip  Horneck,  author  of 
a  Billingsgate  paper  called  "  The  High  German  Doctor."  Edward 
Koome  was  son  of  an  undertaker  for  funerals  in  Fleet  Street,  and 
writ  some  of  the  papers  called  "  Pasquin,"  where  by  malicious  in- 
nuendoes he  endeavoured  to  represent  our  author  guilty  of  malevo- 
lent practices  with  a  great  man  then  under  prosecution  of  parlia- 
ment. Of  this  man  was  made  the  following  epigram  : — 

"  You  ask  why  Roome  diverts  you  with  his  jokesi. 

Yet  if  he  writes,  is  dull  as  other  folks  ? 

You  wonder  at  it — This,  sir,  is  the  case. 

The  jest  is  lost  unless  he  prints  his  face." 
Popple  was  the  author  of,  some  vile  plays  and  pamphlets,    He  put)* 


156  THE  DUNCIAD. 

Lo,  sneering  Goode,1  half  malice  and  half  whim, 
A  fiend  in  glee,  ridiculously  grim. 
Each  cygnet  sweet,  of  Bath  and  Tunbridge  race, 
Whose  tuneful  whistling  makes  the  waters  pass; 
Each  songster,  riddler,  every  nameless  name, 
All  crowd,  who  foremost  shall  be  damned  to  fame 
Some  strain  in  rhyme;  the  Muses,  on  their  racks, 
Scream  like  the  winding  of  ten  thousand  jacks: 
Some  free  from  rhyme  or  reason,  rule  or  check, 
Break  Priscian's  head,  and  Pegasus's  neck; 
Down,  down  they  larum,  with  impetuous  whirl, 
The  Pindar's,  and  the  Milton's  of  a  Curl. 

"Silence  ye  wolves!  while  Balph'2  to  Cynthia  howls, 
And  makes  night  hideous — Answer  him,  ye  owls ! 

"Sense,  speech,  and  measure,  living  tongues  and 

dead, 

Let  all  give  way,  and  Moms3  may  be  read. 
Flow,  Welsted,  flow  !4  like  thine  inspirer,  beer,  — 
Though  stale,  not  ripe;  though  thin,  yet  never  clear; 
So  sweetly  mawkish,  and  so  smoothly  dull; 
Heady,  not  strong;  o'erflowing,  though  not  full. 

"Ah,  Dennis!5  Gildon,  ah!  what  ill-starred  rage 

lished  abuses  on  our  author  in  a  paper  called  the  •"  Prompted." — 
Warburton. 

1  An  Ill-natured  critic,  who  writ  a  satire  on  our  author,  called  "The 
Mock  JLsop, "  and  many  anonymous  libels  in  newspapers  for  hire.— 
Warburton. 

2  James  Ralph,  a  name  inserted  after  the  first  editions,  not  known 
to   our   author  till  he  writ  a  swearing-piece  called    Sawney,  very 
abusive  to  Dr.  Swift,  Mr.  Gay,  and  himself.    These  lines  allude  to  a 
thing  of  his  entitled  "  Night,"  a  poem.     This  low  writer  attended 
his  own  works  with  panegyrics  in  the  journals,  and  once  in  particular 
praised  himself  highly  above  Mr.  Addison.    He  was  wholly  illiterate, 
and  knew  no  language,  not  even  French.    Being  advised  to  read  the 
rules  of  dramatic  poetry  before  he  began  a  play,  he  smiled  and  re- 
plied, "  Shakespeare  writ  without  rules."    He  ended  at  last  in  the 
common  sink  of  all  such  writers,  a  political  newspaper,  to  which  he 
was  reccommended  by  his  friend  Arnal,  and  received  a  small  pit- 
tance for  pay,  and  being  detected  in  writing  on  both  sides  in  one  and 
the  same  day,  he  publicly  justified  the  morality  of  his  conduct.— 
War  burton. 

3  Morris  Besaleel,  see  previous  note  1,  Book  II. 

4  See  Book  II.,  v.  209. 

6  The  reader,  who  has  seen,  through  the  course  of  these  notes, 
what  a  constant  attendance  Mr.  Dennis  paid  to  our  author  and  all 
his  works,  may  perhaps  wonder  he  should  be  mentioned  but  twice, 
and  so  slightly  touched  in  this  poem.  But  in  truth  he  looked  upon 
him  with  some  esteem,  for  having  (more  generously  than  all  the 
rest)  set  his  name  to  such  writings.  He  was  also  a  very  old  man  at 
this  time.  By  his  own  account  of  himself  in  Mr.  Jacob's  Lives,  he 
must  have  been  above  Ihreescore,  and  happily  lived  many  years 
after.  So  that  he  was  senior  to  Mr.  Durfey,  who  hitherto  of  all  our 
poets  enjoyed  the  longest  bodily  life,—  WcirbHrton, 


THE  DVNCIAD.  157 

Divides  a  friendship  long  confirmed  by  age  ? 
Blockheads  with  reason  wicked  wits  abhor; 
But  fool  with  fool  is  barb'rous  civil  war. 
Embrace,  embrace,  ray  sons !  be  foes  no  more !  I 
Nor  glad  vile  poets  with  true  critics'  gore. 

"Behold  yon  pair,1  in  strict  embraces  joined; 
How  like  in  manners,  and  how  like  in  mind ! 
Equal  in  wit,  and  equally  polite, 
Shall  this  a  Pasquin,  that  a  Grumbler  write; 
Like  are  their  merits,  like  rewards  they  share^ 
That  shines  a  consul,  this  commissioner.2 

"  But  who  is  he,  in  closet  close  y-pent, 
Of  sober  face,  with  learned  dust  besprent? 
Eight  well  mine  eyes  arede3  the  myster  wight, 
On  parchment  scraps  y-fed  and  Wormius  hight4 
To  future  ages  may  thy  dulness  last, 
As  thou  preservest  the  dulness  of  the  past ! 

There,  dim  in  clouds,  the  poring  scholiasts  mark, 
Wits,  who,  like  owls,5  see  only  in  the  dark. 
A  lumber-house  of  book^  in  ev'ry  head, 
For  ever  reading,  never  to  be  read ! 

"  But,  where  each  science  lifts  its  modern  type, 
Hist'ry  her  pot,  divinity  her  pipe, 
While  proud  philosophy  repines  to  show, 
Dishonest  sight!  his  breeches  rent  below; 
Embrowned  with  native  bronze,  lo !  Henley  stands,' 


1  One  of  these  was  author  of  a  weekly  paper  called  the  Grumbler,  as 
the  other  was  concerned  in  another  called  Pasquin,  in  which  Mr. 
Pope  was  abused  with  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  and  Bishop  of 
Rochester.    They  also  joined  in  a  piece  against  his  first  undertak- 
ing to  translate  the  Iliad,  intituled  Homerides,  by  Sir  Iliad  Doggrel, 
printed  in  1715.  —  Warburton.    They  were  Thomas  Burnet,  youngesl 
son  of  the  famous  Bishop  Burnet,  and  Colonel  Ducket.—  Wakejield. 

2  Such  places  were  given  at  this  time  to  such  sort  of  writers.— Pope. 

3  Bead,  or  peruse;  though  sometimes  used  for  counsel.— Pope. 

4  Let  not  this  name,  purely  fictitious,  be  conceited  to  mean  Olaus 
Wormius;  much  less  (as  it  was  unwarrantably  foisted  into  the  sur- 
reptitious editions)  our  own  antiquary,  Mr.  Thomas  Hearne,  who 
had  no  way  aggrieved  our  poet,  but  on  the  contrary  published  many 
curious  tracts  which  he  hath  to  his  great  contentment  perused.— 
Pope. 

*'  In  Cumberland  they  say  to  hight,  for  to  promise,  or  vow;  but 
hight  usually  signifies  was  called ;  and  so  it  does  in  the  north  even  to 
this  day,  notwithstanding  what  is  done  in  Cumberland."— ffearns. 

5  These  few  lines  exactly  describe  the  right  verbal  critic :   the 
darker  his  author  the  better  he  is  pleased ;  like  the  famous  quack 
doctor,  who  put  up  in  his  bills,  he  delighted  in  matters  of  difficulty. 
Somebody  said  well  of  these  men,  that  their  heads  were  libraries 
out  of  order. 

6  J.  Henley  tho  orator;  he  preached  on  the  Sundays  upon  theolog- 
ical matters,  and  on  tho  Wednesdays  upon  all  other  sciences.    Eacii 


158  THE  DVNCIAD. 

Tuning  his  voice,  and  balancing  his  hands. 
How  fluent  nonsense  trickles  from  his  tongue ! 
How  sweet  the  periods,  neither  said,  nor  sung ! 
Still  break  the  benches,  Henley !  with  thy  strain, 
While  Sherlock,  Hare,  and  Gibson1  preach  in  vain. 
Oh,  great  restorer  of  the  good  old  stage, 
Preacher  at  once,  and  zany  of  thy  age ! 
Oh,  worthy  thou  of  Egypt's  wise  abodes, 
A  decent  priest,  where  monkeys  were  the  gods !  *" 
But  fate  with  butchers  placed  thy  priestly  stall, 
Meek  modern  faith  to  murder,  hack  and  maul; 
And  bade  thee  live,  to  crown  Britannia's  praise, 
In  Toland's,  Tindal's,  and  Woolston's  days.2 

"Yet  oh,  my  sons,  a  father's  words  attend: 
(So  may  the  fates  preserve  the  ears  you  lend) 
'Tis  yours  a  Bacon  or  a  Locke  to  blame, 
A  Newton's  genius,  or  a  Milton's  flame: 
But  oh!  with  One,  immortal  One  dispense; 
The  source  of  Newton's  light,  of  Bacon's  sense. 
Content,  each  emanation  of  his  fires 
That  beams  on  earth,  each  virtue  he  inspires, 
Each  art  he  prompts,  each  charm  he  can  create 
Whate'er  he  gives,  are  giv'n  for  you  to  hate. 
Persist,  by  aU  divine  in  man  unawed, 
But,  learn,  ye  dunces !  not  to  scorn  your  God." 

Thus  he,  for  then  a  ray  of  reason  stole 
Half  through  the  solid  darkness  of  his  soul; 
But  soon  the  cloud  returned — and  thus  the  sire: 
"  See  now,  what  Dulness  and  her  sons  admire ! 
See  what  the  charms  that  smite  the  simple  heart 
Not  touched  by  nature,  and  not  reached  by  art." 

His  never-blushing  head  he  turned  aside, 
(Not  half  so  pleased  when  Goodman  prophesied3) 

auditor  paid  one  shilling.  He  declaimed  some  years  against  the 
greatest  persons,  and  occasionally  did  our  author  that  honor.  (See 
former  note,  p.  152.) 

1  Bishops  of  Salisbury,  Chichester,  and  London :  whose  sermons 
and  pastoral  letters  did  honour  to  their 'country  as  well  as  stations. 
—Pope. 

2  Tho.  Woolston  was  an  impious  madman,  who  wrote  in  a  most  in- 
solent style  against  the  miracles  of  the  Gospel,  in  the  years  1726,  &c. 
—  Warburton. 

3  Mr.  Cibber  tells  us,  in  his  "  Life,"  p.  149,  that  Goodman  being  at  the 
rehearsal  of  a  play,  in  which  he  had  a  part,  clapped  him  on  the  shoul- 
der and  cried,  "If  he  does  not  make  a  good  actor,  I'll  be  d d." — 

And  (says  Mr.  Cibber)  I  make  it  a  question,  whether  Alexander  him- 
self, or  Charles  the  Twelfth  of  Sweden,  when  at  the  head  of  their  first 
victorious  armies,  could  feel  a  greater  transport  iu  their  bosoms  than  I 
•did  in  mine,— Warburton, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  159 

And  looked,  and  saw  a  sable  sorcerer1  rise, 
Swift  to  whose  hand  a  winged  volume  flies; 
All  sudden,  gorgons  hiss,  and  dragons  glare, 
And  ten-horned  fiends  and  giants  rush  to  war. 
Hell  rises,  heaven  descends,  and  dance  on  earth:2 
Gt)ds,  imps,  and  monsters,  music,  rage,  and  mirth, 
A  fire,  a  jig,  a  battle,  and  a  ball, 
Till  one  wild  conflagration  swallows  all. 

Thence  a  new  world  to  nature's  laws  unknown, 
Breaks  out  refulgent,  with  a  heaven  its  own: 
Another  Cynthia  her  new  journey  runs, 
And  other  planets  circle  other  suns. 
The  forests  dance,  the  rivers  upward  rise, 
Whales  sport  in  woods,  and  dolphins  in  the  skies; 
And  last,  to  give  the  whole  creation  grace, 
Lo !  one  vast  egg3  produces  human  race. 

Joy  fils  his  soul,  joy  innocent  of  thought ! 
"  What  power,"  he  cries,  "  what  power  these  won- 
ders wrought? 

Son,  what  thou  seek'st  is  in  thee !  look,  and  find"? 
Each  monster  meets  his  likeness  in  thy  mind.    J 
Yet  wouldst  thou  more  ?  in  yonder  cloud  behold, 
Whose  sarsnet  skirts  are  edged  with  flamy  gold, 
A  matchless  youth !  his  nod  these  worlds  controls, 
Wings  the  red  lightning,  and  the  thunder  rolls. 
Angel  of  Dullness,  sent  to  scatter  round 
Her  magic  charms  o'er  all  unclassic  ground: 
Yon  stars,  yon  sons,  he  rears  at  pleasure  higher, 
Illumines  their  light,  and  sets  their  flames  on  fire. 
Immortal  Eich  !4  how  calm  he  sits  at  ease 
'Midst  snows  of  paper,  and  fierce  hail  of  pease; 
And  proud  his  mistress5  orders  to  perform, 
Bides  in  the  whirlwind,  and  directs  the  storm. 

"  But  lo !  to  dark  encounter  in  mid  air 
New  wizards  rise;  I  see  my  Gibber  there! 

1  Dr.  Faustus,  the  subject  of  a  set  of  farces,  which  lasted  in  vogue 
two  or  three  seasons,  in  which  both  play-houses  strove  to  outdo  each 
other  for  some  years.  All  the  extravagances  in  the  sixteen  lines  fol- 
lowing were  introduced  on  the  stage,  and  frequented  by  persons  of  the 
first  quality  in  England,  to  the  twentieth  and  thirtieth  time.— 
Warburton. 

'z  This  monstrous  absurdity  was  actually  represented  in  Tibbald's 
"Rape  of  Proserpine."—  Warburton. 

3  In  another  of  these  farces,  Harlequin  is  hatched  upon  the  stage  out 
»f  a  large  egg. — Warburton. 

4  Mr  John  Rich,  master  of  the  Theatre  Royal  in  Coveut  Garden,  was 
the  first  that  excelled  this  wa,yt—Warburton.' 


160  THE  DUNCIAD. 

Booth1  in  his  cloudy  tabernacle  shrined, 

On  grinning  dragons  thou  shalt  mount  the  wind.* 

Dire  is  the  conflict,  dismal  is  the  din, 

Here  shouts  all  Drury,  there  all  Lincoln's  Inn; 

Contending  theatres  our  empire  raise, 

Alike  their  labours,  and  alike  their  praise. 

"And  are  these  wonders,  son,  to  thee  unknown? 
Unknown  to  thee  ?  these  wonders  are  thy  own.2 
These  fate  reserved  to  grace  thy  reign  divine, 
Foreseen  by  me,  but  ah !  withheld  from  mine. 
'  In  Lud's  old  walls  though  long  I  ruled,  renowned 
Far  as  loud  Bow's  stupendous  bells  resound; 
Though  my  own  aldermen  conferred  the  bays, 
To  me  committing  their  eternal  praise, 
Their  full-fed  heroes,  their  pacific  may'rs 
Their  annual  trophies,4  and  their  monthly  wars; 
Though  long  my  party5  built  on  me  their  hopes, 
For  writing  pamphlets,  and  for  roasting  popes; 
Yet  lo !  in  me  wrhat  authors  have  to  brag  on ! 
Reduced  at  last  to  hiss  in  my  own  dragon. 
Avert  it,  Heaven !  that  thou  my  Gibber,  e'er 
Shouldst  wag  a  serpent-tail  in  Smithfield  fair ! 
Like  the  vile  straw  that's  blown  about  the  streets, 
The  needy  poet  sticks  to  all  he  meets, 
Coached,  carted,  trod  upon,  now  loose,  now  fast, 
And  earned  off  in  some  dog's  tail  at  last. 
Happier  thy  fortunes !  like  a  rolling  stone, 
Thy  giddy  dulness  still  shall  lumber  on, 
Safe  in  its  heaviness,  shall  never  stray, 
But  lick  up  ev'ry  blockhead  in  the  way. 

1  Booth  was  joint  manager  of  Drury  Lane  with  Gibber. 

2  Annual  trophies,  on  the  Lord  Mayor's  day;  and  monthly  wars  in 
the  artillery  ground. — Warburton. 

3  In  his  "  Letter"  to  Mr.  P.,  Mr.  C.  solemnly  declares  this  not  to  be 
literally  true.    We   hope    therefore   the   reader   will   understand  it 
allegorically  only.— Pope. 

4  A  marvellous  line  of  Theobald ;  unless  the  play  called  the  "  Double 
Falsehood  "  be  (as  he  would  have  it  believed)  Shakespeare's. 

6  Settle,  like  most  party- writers,  was  very  uncertain  in  his  political 
principles.  He  was  employed  to  hold  the  pen  in  the  character  of  a 
popish  successor,  but  afterwards  printed  his  narrative  on  the  other 
side.  He  had  managed  the  ceremony  of  a  famous  pope-burning  on 
Nov.  17,  1680 ;  then  became  a  trooper  in  King  James's  arinv,  at  Houns- 
low  Heath.  After  the  revolution  he  kept  a  booth  at  Bartholomew  Fair, 
where,  in  the  droll  called  "St.  George  for  England."  he  acted  in  his  old 
age  in  a  dragon  of  green  leather  of  his  own  invention;  he  was  at  last 
taken  into  the  Charter  House,  aud  there  died,  aged  sixty  years,—* 
Warburton. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  1G1 

Thee  shall  the  patriot,  thee  the  courtier  taste,1 
And  ev'ry  year  be  duller  than  the  last. 
Till  raised  from  booths,  to  theatre,  to  court, 
Her  seat  imperial  Dullness  shall  transport. 
Already  opera  prepares  the  way, 
The" sure  lore-runner  of  her  gentle  sway; 
Let  her  thy  heart,  next  drabs  and  dice,  engage, 
The  third  mad  passion  of  thy  doting  age, 
Teach  thou  the  warbling  Polypheme2  to  roar, 
And  scream  thyself  as  none  e'er  screamed  before ! 
To  aid  our  cause,  if  heav'n  thou  canst  not  bend, 
Hell  thou  shalt  move;  for  Faustus  is  our  friend: 
Pluto3  with  Cato  thou  for  this  shalt  join, 
And  link  the  Mourning  Bride  to  Proserpine. 
Grub  Street!  thy  fall  should  men  and  gods  conspire, 
Thy  stage  shall  stand,  insure  it  but  from  fire.4 
Another  .ZEschylus  appears  !6  prepare 
For  new  abortions,  all  ye  pregnant  fair ! 
In  flames,  like  Semele's,6  be  brought  to  bed, 
While  op'ning  hell  spouts  wild-fire  at  your  head. 
"Now,  Bavius,  take  the  poppy  from  thy  brow, 
And  place  it  here !  here  all  ye  heroes  bow! 
This,  this  is  he,  foretold  by  ancient  rhymes; 
Th'  Augustus  born  to  bring  Saturnian  times.7 
Signs  following  signs  lead  on  the  mighty  year! 
See !  the  dull  stars  roll  round  and  reappear. 
See,  see,  our  own  true  Phoebus  wears  the  bays! 
Our  Midas  sits  Lord  Chancellor  of  plays ! 

1  It  stood  in  the  first  edition  -with  blanks    *    *    and    *    *  .    Con- 
caiieu  was  sure  "they  must  needs  mean  nobody  but  King  George  and 
Queen  Caroline;  and  said  he  would  insist  it  was  so  till  the  poet  cleared 
himself  by  filling  up  the  blanks  otherwise,  agreeably  to  the  context 
and  consistent  with  his  allegiance." 

2  He  translated  the  Italian  opera  of  Polifemo;  but  unfortunately  lost 
the  whole  jest  of  the  story.     The  Cyclops  asks  Ulysses  his  name',  who 
tells  him  his  name  is  Noman.     After  his  eye  is  put  out,  he  roars  and 
calls  the  brother  Cyclops  to  his  aid :  They  inquire  who  has  hurt  him  ? 
he  answers  Noman:  whereupon  they  all  go  away  again.    Our  ingenious 
translator,  made  Ulysses  answer,  'I  take  no  name,'  whereby  all  that 
followed  became  unintelligible. — Pope. 

3  Names  of  miserable  farces  which  it  was  the  custom  to  act  at  the  end 
of  the  best  tragedies,  to  spoil  the  digestion  of  the.  audience. 

4  In  the  farce  of  "Proserpine"  a  corn-field  was  set  on  flre;  where- 
upon the  other  play-house  had  a  barn  burnt  down  for  the  recreation  of 
the  spectators.     They  also  rivalled  each  other  in  showing  the  burnings 
of  hell-fire,  in  "Dr.  Faustus." — Pope. 

5  It  is  reported  of  ^schylus,  that  when  his  tragedy  of  the  "  Furies  " 
was  acted,  the  audience  were  so  terrified  that  tho  children  fell  into  fits. 

6  See  Ovid,  Met.  iii. 

7  The  age  of  Iea4 ;  Saturn  wag  the  alchemist'^  word  for  it. 


162  THE  DVNCIAD. 

On  poets'  tombs  see  Benson's  titles  writ  !l 
Lo !  Ambrose  Philips2  is  preferred  for  wit ! 
See  under  Ripley  rise  a  new  Whitehall, 
While  Jones'  and  Boyle's  united  labours  fall;3 
While  Wren4  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  descends; 
Gay5  dies  unpensioned  with  a  hundred  friends; 
Hibernian  politics,  O  Swift  thy  fate; 
And  Pope's,  ten  years  to  comment  and  translate.6 

"  Proceed,  great  days !  till  learning  fly  the  shore, 
Till  birch  shall  blush  with  noble  blood  no  more, 
Till  Thames  see  Eton's  sons  forever  play, 
Till  Westminster's  whole  year  be  holiday. 
Till  Isis'  elders  reel,  their  pupils'  sport, 
And  Alma  Mater  lie  dissolved  in  port !" 

1  Benson  (surveyor  of  the  buildings  to  bis  Majesty  King  George  I.\ 
gave  in  a  report  to  the  lords,  that  their  house  and  the  painted  chamber 
adjoining  were  in  immediate  danger  of  falling.    Whereupon  the  lords 
met  in  a  committee  to  appoint  some  other  place  to  sit  in,  while  the 
house  should  be  taken  down.    But  it  being  proposed  to  cause  some 
other  builders  first  to  inspect  it,  they  found  it  in  very  good  condition. 
In  favour  of  this  man,  the  famous  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  who  had  been 
archirect  to  the  crown  for  above  fifty  years,  who  built  most  of  the 
churches  in  London,  laid  the  first  stone  of  St.  Paul's,  and  lived  to  finish 
it,  had  been  displaced  from  his  employment  at  the  age  of  near  ninety 
years. — Warburton.    But  the  allusion  is  to  Benson's  erecting  a  monu- 
ment to  Milton  in  Westminster  Abbey,  in  which  his  own  name  is 
prominent  as  the  founder. 

2  "He  was  (saith  Mr.  Jacob)  one  of  the  wits  at  Button's  and  a  justice 
of  the  peace;"    but  he  hath  since  met  with  higher  preferment  in 
Ireland.    *    *    *    He  endeavoured  to  create  some  misunderstanding 
between  our  author  and  Mr.  Addison,  whom  also  soon  after  he  abused 
as  much.    His  constant  cry  was,  that  Mr.  Pope  was  an  enemy  to  the 
government ;  and  in  particular  he  was  the  avowed  author  of  a  report 
very  industriously  spread,  that  he  had  a  hand  in  a  party-paper  called 
the  "Examine' :"'  a  falsehood  well  known  to  those  yet  liwng,  who  had 
the  direction  and  publication  of  it.    He  proceeded  to  grosser  insults, 
and  hung  up  a  rod  at  Button's  with  which  he  threatened  to  chastise 
Pope. — Johnson. 

3  At  the  time  when  this  poem  was  written,  the  banqueting  house  at 
Whitehall,  the  Church  and  piazza  of  Covent  Garden,  and  the  palace 
and  chapel  of  Somerst  House,  the  works  of  the  famous  Inigo  Jones, 
had  been  for  many  years  so  neglected,  as  to  be  in  danger  of  ruin.    The 
portico  of  Covent  Garden  church  had  been  just  then  restored  and  beau- 
tified at  the  expense  of  the  Earl  of  Burlington  [Kichard  Boyle] ;  who,  at 
the  same  time,  by  his  publication  of  the  designs  of  that  great  master 
and  Palladio,  as  well  as  by  many  noble  buildings  of  his  own,  revived  the 
true  taste  of  architecture' in  this  kingdom — Warburton.    See  Epistle  to 
Lord  Burlington. 

4  Sir  Christopher  Wrem  who  built  St.  Paul's ;  he  died  at  the  age  of 
ninety-one. 

6  See  his  "Fable  of  the  Hare  and  Many  Friends :"  but  he  had  one  true 
friend  in  the  Duchess  of  Queeusbury. 

6  The  author  here  plainly  laments  that  he  was  so  long  employed  in 
translating  and  commenting.  He  began  the  "  Iliad"  in  1713,  and 
finished  it  in  1719.  The  edition  of  "  Shakespeare  "  (which  he  undertook 
merely  because  nobody  else  would)  took  up  near  two  years  more  in  the 
drudgery  of  comparing  impressions,  rectifying  the  scenery,  &c.,  and 
the  translation  of  half  the  "Odyssey  "  employed  him  from,  that  time  to 
1725,— Warburton, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  163 

"Enough!  enough!"  the  raptured  monarch  cries; 
And  through  the  iv'ry  gate  the  vision  flies. 


BOOK  THE  FOUKTH. 

ARGUMENT. 

The  poet  being,  in  this  book,  to  declare  the  completion  of  the  prophe- 
cies mentioned  at  the  end  of  the  former,  makes  a  new  invoca- 
tion ;  as  the  greater  poets  are  wont,  when  some  hirh  and  worthy 
matter  is  to  be  sung.  He  shows  the  goddess  coming  in  her 
majesty,  to  destroy  order  and  science,  and  to  substitue  Tie  king- 
dom of  the  dull-upon  earth.  How  she  leads  captive  the  .sciences, 
and  silenceth  the  muses,  and  what  they  be  who  succeed  in  thmi' 
stead.  All  her  chTTcTren,  by  a  wonderful  attraction,  are  drawn 
about  her,  and  bear  along  with  them  divers  others,  who  promote 
her  empire  by  connivance,  weak  resistance,  or  discouragement  of 
arts ;  such  as  half-wits,  tasteless  admirers,  vain  pretenders,  the 
flatterers  of  dunces,  or  the  patrons  of  them.  All  these  crowd 
round  her ;  one  of  them  offering  to  approach  her  is  driven  back 
by  a  rival ;  but  she  commends  and  encourages  both.  The  first 
who  speak  in  form  are  the  geniuses  of  the  schools,  who  assure 
her  of  their  care  to  advance  her  cause,  by  confining  youth  to 
words,  and  keeping  them  out  of  the  way  of  real  knowledge. 
Their  address,  and  her  gracious  answer ;  with  her  charge  to 
them  and  the  universities.  The  universities  appear  by  their 
proper  deputies,  and  assure  her  that  the  same  method  is  ob- 
served in  the  progress  of  education.  The  speech  of  Aristarchus 
on  this  subject.  They  are  drawn  off  by  a  band  of  young  gentle- 
men returned  from  travel  with  their  tutors;  one  of  whom  de- 
livers to  the  goddess,  in  a  polite  oration,  an  account  of  the 
whole  conduct  and  fruits  of  their  travels:  presenting  to  her  at 
the  same  time  a  young  nobleman  perfectly  accomplished.  She 
receives  him  graciously,  and  endues  him  with  the  happy  quality 
of  want  of  shame.  She  sees  loitering  about  her  a  number  of  in- 
dolent persons  abandoning  all  business  and  duty,  and  dying 
with  laziness.  To  these  approaches  the  antiquary  Annius,  on- 
treating  her  to  make  them  Virtuosos,  and  assign  them  over  to 
him;  but  Mummius,  another  antiquary,  complaining  of  his 
fraudulent  proceeding,  she  finds  a  method  to  reconcile  their 
difference.  Then  enter  a  troop  of  people  fantastically  adorned, 
offering  her  strange  and  exotic  presents.  Amongst  them  one 
stands  forth  and  demands  justice  on  another,  who  had  deprived 
him  of  one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  in  nature;  but  he  justifies 
himself  so  well,  that  the  goddess  gives  them  both  her  approba- 
tion. She  recommends  to  them  to  find  proper  employment  for 
the  indolents  before  mentioned,  in  the  study  of  butterflies,  shells, 
birds'  nests,  moss,  &c.,  but  with  particular  caution,  not  to  pro- 
ceed beyond  trifles,  to  any  useful  or  extensive  views  of  nature,  or 
of  the  Author  of  nature.  Against  the  last  of  these  apprehen- 
sions, she  is  secured  by  a  hearty  address  from  the  minute  philos- 
ophers and  freethinkers,  one  of  whom  speaks  in  the  name  of  the 
rest.  The  youth,  thus  instructed  and  principled,  are  delivered 
to  her  in  a  body,  by  the  hands  of  Silenus,  and  then  admitted  to 
taste  the  cup  of  the  Magus  her  high  priest,  which  causes  a  total 
oblivion  of  all  obligations,  divine,  civil,  moral,  or  rational.  To 
these  her  adepts  she  sends  priests,  attendants  and  comforters, 
of  various  kinds;  confers  on  them  orders  and  degrees;  and  then 
dismissing  them  with  a  speech,  confirming  to  each  his  privileges, 
and  telling  what  she  expects  from  each,  concludes  with  a  yawn 
of  extraordinary  virtue  :  the  progress  and  effects  whereof  on  all 
orders  of  men,  and  the  consummation  of  all,  in  the  restoration 
of  night  and  chaos,  conclude  the  poem, 


164  THE  DUNCIAD. 


BOOK  IV.1 

YET,  yet  a  moment  one  dim  ray  of  light 
Indulge,  dread  Chaos,  and  eternal  Night  !2 
Of  darkness  visible  so  much  .be  lent, 
As  half  to  sho"w,  half-veil,  the  deep  intent,3 
Ye  pow'rs !  whose  mysteries  restored  I  sing, 
To  whom  time  bears  me  on  his  rapid  wing, 
Suspend  a  while  your  force  inertly  strong, 
Then  take  at  once  the  poet  and  the  song. 

Now  flamed  the  dog-star's  unpropitious  ray, 
Smote  ev'ry  brain,  and  withered  ev'ry  bay; 
Sick  was  the  sun,  the  owl  forsook  his  bower, 
The  moon-struck  prophet  felt  the  madding  hour: 
Then  rose  the  seed  of  Chaos,  and  of  Night, 
To  blot  out  order,  and  extinguish  light, 
Of  dull  and  venal  a  new  world  to  mould, 
And  bring  Saturnian  days  of  lead  and  gold.4 

She  mounts  the  throne :  her  head  a  cloud  concealed, 
In  broad  effulgence  all  below  revealed; 
('Tis  thus  aspiring  Dulness  ever  shines) 
Soft  on  her  lap  her  laureate  son  reclines. 

Beneath  her  footstool,  Science  groans  in  chains, 
And  Wit  dreads  exile,  penalties,  and  pains, 
There  foamed  rebellious  Logic,  gagged  and  bound, 
There,   stripped,   fair  Rhet'ric   languished    on  the 

ground; 

His  blunted  arms  by  Sophistry  are  borne, 
And  shameless  Billingsgate  her  robes  adorn. 
Morality,  by  her  false  guardians  drawn, 
(Chicane  in  furs,  and  Casuistry  in  lawn,) 
Grasps,  as  they  straighten  at  each  end  the  cord, 


1  This  book  may  properly  be  distinguished  from  the  former,  by 
the  name  of  the  "  Greater  Dunciad,"  not  so  indeed  in  size,  but  in  sub- 
ject; and  so  far  contrary  to  the  distinction  anciently  made  of  the 
"Greater"  and  "  Lesser  Iliad."    But  much  are  they  mistaken  who 
imagine  this  work  in  any  wise  inferior  to  the  former,  or  of  any  other 
hand  than  of  our  poet;  of  which  I  am  much  more  certain  than  that 
the  "Iliad"  itself  was  the  work  of  Solomon,  or  theBatrachomuoma- 
chia  "of  Homer,  as  Barnes  hath  affirmed.—  Bentley.    Pope. 

2  Invoked  as  the  restoration  of  their  empire  is  the  action  of  the 
poem.— Pope. 

3  Thts  is  a  great  propriety,  for  a  dull  poet  can  never  express  him- 
self otherwise  than  by  halves  or  imperfectly.— Pope, 

*  Pull  and  venal.— 


THE  D  UNO  I  AD.  165 

And  dies  when  Dulness  gives  her  Page  the  word.1 

Mad  Mathesis2  alone  was  unconfined, 

Too  mad  for  mere  material  chains  to  bind, 

Now  to  pure  space  lifts  her  ecstatic  stare, 

Now  running  round  the  circle  finds  its  square.3 

But  held  in  tenfold  bonds  the  Muses  lie, 

Watched  both  by  Envy's  and  by  Flattery's  eye:4 

There  to  her  heart  sad  Tragedy  addrest 

The  dagger  wont  to  pierce  the  tyrant's  breast; 

But  sober  History  restrained  her  rage, 

And  promised  vengeance  on  a  barb'rous  age. 

There  sunk  Thalia,  nerveless,  cold,  and  dead, 

Had  not  her  sister  Satire  held  her  head: 

Nor  couldst  thou,  Chesterfield  !5  a  tear  refuse 

Thou  wep'st,  and  with  thee  wept  each  gentle  muse. 

When  lo !  a  harlot  form6  soft  sliding  by, 
With  mincing  step,  small  voice,  and  languid  eye: 
Foreign  her  air,  here  robe's  discordant  pride 
In  patch- work  flutt'ring,  and  her  head  aside: 
By  singing  peers  upheld  on  either  hand, 
She  triped  and  laughed,  too  pretty  much  to  stand; 
Cast  on  the  prostrate  Nine  a  scijmf  ul  look, 
Then  thus  in  quaint  recitativo  spoke. 

"O  Cara!  Cara!  silence  all  that  train: 
Joy  to  great  Chaos!  let  division  reign:7 

1  There  was  a  judge  of  this  name,  always  ready  to  hang  any  man 
that  came  in  his  way,  of  which  he  was  suffered  to  give  a  hundred 
miserable  examples  during  a  long  life,  even  to  his  dotage.— Pope. 

2  Alluding  to  the  strange  conclusions  some  mathematicians  have 
deduced  from  their  principles,  concerning  the  real  quantity  of  mat- 
ter, the  reality  of  space,  Sac.— Pope. 

3  Regards  the  wild  and  fruitless  attempts  of  squaring  the  circle.— 
Pope. 

*  One  of  the  misfortunes  falling  on  authors  from  the  act  for  sub- 
jecting plays  to  the  power  of  a  licenser,  being  the  false  representa- 
tions to  which  they  were  exposed,  from  such  as  either  gratified  their 
envy  to  merit,  or  made  their  court  to  greatness,  by  perverting  gen- 
eral reflectio'ns  against  vice  into  libels  on  particular  persons.— 
Pope. 

6  This  noble  person  in  the  year  1737,  when  the  Act  was  brought 
into  the  House  of  Lords,  opposed  it  in  an  excellent  speech.— Pope. 

I  6  The  attitude  given  to  this  phantom  represents  the  nature  and 
genius  of  Italian  opera;  its  affected  airs,  its  effeminate  sounds,  and 
the  practice  of  patching  up  these  operas  with  favorite  songs,  inco- 
herently put  together.  These  things  were  supported  by  the  sub- 
scriptions of  the  nobility.  This  circumstance  that  opera  should  pre- 
'pare  for  the  opening  of  trhe  grand  sessions  was  prophesied  of  in  book 
iii.  ver.  304.— Pope. 

I  7  Alluding  to  the  false  taste  of  playing  tricks  in  music  with  num- 
berless divisions,  to  the  neglect  of  that  harmony  which  conforms  to 
the  sense,  and  applies  to  the  passions.  Mr.  Handel  had  introduced 
a  great  number  of  hands,  and  more  variety  of  instruments  iiito  the 


166  THE  DVNCIAD. 

Chromatic  tortures  soon  shall  drive  them  hence, 
Break  all  their  nerves  and  fritter  all  their  sense: 
One  trill  shall  harmonise  joy,  grief,  and  rage, 
Wake  the  dull  church,  and  lull  the  ranting  stage; 
To  the  same  notes  thy  sons  shall  hum,  or  snore, 
And  all  thy  yawning  daughters  cry,  Encore. 
Another  Phoebus,  thy  own  Phoebus,  reigns, 
Joys  in  my  jigs,  and  dances  in  my  chains. 
But  soon,  ah  soon,  rebellion  will  commence, 
If  music  meanly  borrows  aid  from  sense. 
Strong  in  new  arms,  lo !  Giant  Handel  stands, 
Like  bold  Briareus,  with  a  hundred  hands; 
To  stir,  to  rouse,  to  shake  the  soul  he  comes, 
And  Jove's  own  thunders  follow  Mars's  Drums. 
Arrest  him,  empress;  or  you  sleep  no  more — 
She  heard,  and  drove  him  to  the  Hibernian  shore." 

And  now  had  Fame's  posterior  trumpet  blown, 
And  all  the  nations  summoned  to  the  throne. 
The  young,  the  old,  who  feel  her  inward  sway, 
One  instinct  seizes,  and  transports  away. 
None  need  a  guide,  by  sure  attraction  led, 
And  strong  impulsive  gravity  of  head; 
None  want  a  place  for  all  their  centre  found, 
Hung  to  the  goddess  and  cohered  around. 
Not  closer,  orb  in  orb,  conglobed  are  seen 
The  buzzing  bees  about  their  dusky  queen. 

The  gath'ring  number  as  it  moves  along, 
Involves  a  vast  involuntary  throng, 
Who  gently  drawn,  and  struggling  less  and  less, 
Koll  in  her  vortex,  and  her  power  confess: 
Not  those  alone  who  passive  own  her  laws, 
But  who,  weak  rebels,  more  advance  her  cause. 
Whate'er  of  dunce  in  college  or  in  town 
Sneers  at  another  in  toupee  or  gown; 
Whate'er  of  mongrel  no  one  class  admits, 
A  wit  with  dunces,  and  a  dunce  with  wits. 

Nor  absent  they,  no  members  of  her  state, 
Who  pay  her  homage  in  her  sons,  the  great; 
Who,  false  to  Phoebus,  bow  the  knee  to  Baal; 
Or,  impious,  preach  his  word  without  a  call. 

orchestra,  and  employed  even  drums  and  cannon  to  make  a  fuller 
chorus;  which  proved  so  much  too  manly  for  the  fine  gentlemen  of 
his  age,  that  he  was  obliged  to  remove  his  music  into  Ireland.  After 
which  they  were  reduced,  for  want  of  composers,  to  practise  tho 
patch-work  above  mentioned,— Pope, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  167 

Patrons,  who  sneak  from  living  worth  to  dead, 
Withhold  the  pension,  and  set  up  the  head; 
Or  vest  dull  flatt'ry  in  the  sacred  gown; 
Or  give  from  fool  to  fool  the  laurel  crown. 
And  (last  and  worst)  with  all  the  cant  of  wit, 
Without  the  soul,  the  muse's  hypocrite.  „ i 

Then  marched  the  bard  and  blockhead,  side  by  side.    / 
Who  rhymed  for  hire,  and  patronised  for  pride.       JJ 
Narcissus,  praised  with  all  a  parson's  power,  • 
Looked  a  white  lily  sunk  beneath  a  shower.1 
There  moved  Montalto2  with  superior  air; 
His  stretched-out  arm  displayed  a  volume  fair; 
Courtiers  and  patriots  in  two  ranks  divide, 
Through  both  he  passed,  and  bowed  from  side  to  side; 
But  as  in  graceful  act,  with  awful  eye 
Composed  he  stood,  bold  Benson3  thrust  him  by: 
On  two  unequal  crutches  propped  he  came, 
Milton's  on  this,  on  that  one  Johnston's  name. 
The  decent  knight  retired  with  sober  rage, 
Withdrew  his  hand,  and  closed  the  pompous  page. 
But  (happy  for  him  as  the  times  went  then) 
Appeared  Apollo's  mayor  and  aldermen, 
On  whom  three  hundred  gold-capped  youths  await, 
To  lug  the  pond'rous  volume  off  in  state. 

When  Duhiess,  smiling — "Thus  revive4  the  wits! 
But  murder  first,  and  mince  them  all  to  bits; 
As  erst  Medea  (cruel,  so  to  save !) 
A  new  edition  of  old  ^Eson  gave;5 
Let  standard  authors,  thus,  like  trophies  borne, 
Appear  more  glorious  as  more  hacked  and  torn. 

1  Means  Dr.  Middleton's  laboured  encomium  on  Lord  Hervey,  in  his 
dedication  of  the  "Life  of  Cicero." — Warton. 

2  Sir  Thomas  Hanmer,  an  editor  of  Shakespeare.— Wakefield. 

3  This  man  endeavoured  to  raise  himself  to  fame  by  erecting;  monu- 
ments, striking  coins,  setting  up  heads,  and  procuring  translations  of 
Milton;    and  afterwards  by  as  great  passion  for  Arthur  Johnston, 
a  Scotch  physician's  version  of  the  psnlrns,  of  which  he  printed  many 
fine  editions.    See  more  of  him,  book  iii.  ver.  325. — Pope. 

4  The  goddess  applauds  the  practice  of  tacking  the  obscure  names  of 
persons  not  eminent  in  any  branch  of  learning,  to  those  of  the  most 
distinguished  writers  ;  either  by  printing  editions  of  their  works  with 
impertinent  alterations  of  their  text,  as  in  the  former  instances;  or  by 
setting  up  monuments  disgraced  with  their  own  vile  names  and  inscrip- 
tions, as  in  the  latter. — Pope. 

1  Mede,  at  Jason's  request,  restored  his  father  2Eson  to  youth  by 
substituting  a  magical  liquor  for  his  blood,  after  that  hud  been  drained 
from  his  throat. 


168  THE  DUNCIAD. 


: 


And  you,  my  critics !  in  the  chequered  shade, 
Admire  new  light  through  holes  yourself  have  made. 

Leave  not  a  foot  of  verse,  a  foot  of  stone, 
A  page,1  a  grave,  that  they  can  call  their  own; 
But  spread,  my  sons,  your  glory  thin  or  thick, 
On  passive  paper,  or  on  solid  brick. 
So  by  each  bard  an  alderman  shah1  sit,3 
A  heavy  lord  shall  hang  at  ev'ry  wit, 
And  while  on  fame's  triumphal  car  they  ride, 
Some  slave  of  mine  be  pinioned  to  their  side." 

Now  crowds  on  crowds  around  the  goddess  press, 
Each  eager  to  present  their  first  address. 
Dunce  scorning  dunce  beholds  the  next  advance, 
But  fop  shows  fop  superior  complaisance. 
When  lo !  a  spectre  rose,  whose  index-hand 
Held  forth  the  virtue  of  the  dreadful  wand; 
His  beavered  brow  a  birchen  garland  wears, 
Dropping  with  infant's  blood,  and  mother's  tears. 
O'er  every  vein  a  shuddering  horror  runs; 
Eton  and  Winton  shake  through  all  their  sons. 
All  flesh  is  humbled,  Westminster's  bold  race 
Shrink,  and  confess  the  genius  of  the  place: 
The  pale  boy-senator  yet  tingling  stands, 
And  holds  his  breeches  close  with  both  his  hands. 

Then  thus.     "  Since  man  from  beast  by  words  is 

known, 

Words  are  man's  province,  words  we  teach  alone.  \ 
When  reason  doubtful,  like  the  Samian  letter,3 
Points  him  two  ways;  the  narrower  is  the  better; 
Placed  at  the  door  of  learning,  youth  to  guide, 
We  never  suffer  it  to  stand  too  wide.4 
To  ask,  to  guess,  to  know,  as  they  commence, 
As  fancy  opens  the  quick  springs  of  sense, 
We  ply  the  memory,  we  load  the  brain, 
Bind  rebel  wit,  and  double  chain  on  chain; 

1  Pagina,  not  pedissequus.    A  page  of  a  book  ;  not  a  servant,  follower, 
or  attendant ;  no  poet  having  bad  a  page  since  tbe  deatb  of  Mr.  Tbomaa 
Durfey. — Scriblerus.    Pope. 

2  Alluding  to  tbe  monument  erected  for  Butler  by  Alderman  Barber. 
— Warburton. 

3  The  letter  T,  used  by  Pythagoras  as  an  emblem  of  the  different 
roads  of  virtue  and  vice.  * 

'  Et  tibi  quae  Samios  diduxit  litera  ramos." — Pers.    Pope. 

4  This  circumstance  of  the  genius  loci  (with  that  of  the  index-hand 
before)  seems  to  be  an  allusion  to  the  "  Table  of  Cebes,"  where  the 
genius  of  human  nature  points  out  the  road  to  be  pursued  by  those 
entering  into  life. — Pope, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  160 

Confine  the  thought,  to  exercise  the  breath; 
And  keep  them  in  the  pale  of  words  till  death. 
Whatever  the  talents,  or  howe'er  designed,  """"1 
We  hang  one  jingling  padlock  on  the  mind:,) 
A  poet  the  first  day  he  dips  his  quill; 
And  what  the  last?     A  very  poetstilL 
Pity !  the  charm  works  only  in  our  wall, 
Lost,  lost  too  soon  in  yonder  house  or  hall'1 
There  truant  Wyndham2  ev'ry  muse  gave  o'er, 
There  Talbot  sunk,  and  was  a  wit  no  more  1 
How  sweet  an  Ovid,  Murray,3  was  our  boast ! 
How  many  Martials  were  in  Pulteney4  lost ! 
Else  sure  some  bard,  to  our  eternal  praise, 
In  twice  ten  thousand  rhyming  nights  and  days, 
Had  reached  the  work,  the  All  that  mortal  can; 
And  South  beheld  that  masterpiece  of  man.5 

"  Oh"  (cried  the  goddess)  "  for  some  pedant  reign! 
Some  gentle  James,  to  bless  the  land  again; 
To  stick  the  doctor's  chair  into  the  throne, 
Give  law  to  words,  or  war  with  words  alone, 
Senates  and  courts  with  Greek  and  Latin  rule, 
And  turn  the  council  to  a  grammar  school!8 
For  sure,  if  Dulness  sees  a  grateful  day, 
'Tis  in  the  shade  of  arbitrary  sway. 
O !  if  my  sons  may  learn  one  earthly  thing, 
Teach  but  that  one,  sufficient  for  a  king; 
That  which  my  priests,  and  mine  alone,  maintain, 
Which  as  it  dies,  or  lives,  we  fall,  or  reign: 
May  you,  my  Cam  and  Isis,  preach  it  long ! 
The  Right  Divine  of  kings  to  govern  wrong." 

Prompt  at  the  call,  around  the  goddess  roll 
Broad  hats,  and  hoods,  and  caps,  a  sable  shoal: 
Thick  and  more  thick  the  black  blockade  extends, 

1  Westminster  Hall  and  the  House  of  Commons.-^-Pope. 

2  Sir  William  Wyndham,  an  eminent  English  statesman.    The  elo- 
quent and  persistent  opponent  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole. 

3  The  Earl  of  Mansfield,  to  whom  he  addressed  an  epistle;  he  was 
Chancellor  of  Great  Brttain. 

4  Lord  Charles  Talbot  Pulteney,  Earl  of  Bath,  who  succeeded  in  de- 
priving Sir  Robert  Walpole  of  his  place. 

5  Viz.,  an  epigram.    The  famous  Dr.  South  declared  a  perfect 
epigram  to  be  as  difficult  a  performance  as  an  epic  poem.    And  the 
critics  say,  "  an  epic  poem  is  the  greatest  work  human  nature  is 
capable  of."— Pope. 

6  King  James  I.  delighted  in  teaching  his  favourites  Latin ;  and 
Gondemar,  the  Spanish  ambassador,  used  to  speak  false  Latin  in 
order  to  give  the  king  the  pleasure  of  correcting  him,  thus  securing 
his  favour. 


170  THE  DVNCL4D. 


A  hundred  head  of  Aristotle's  friends. 
Nor  wert  thou,  Isis !  wanting  to  the  day, 
[Though  Christ-church  long  kept  prudishly  away;1] 
Each  staunch  Polemic,  stubborn  as  a  rock, 
Each  fierce  Logician,  still  expelling  Locke,2      [thick 
Carne  whip  and  spur,  and  dashed  through  thin  and 
On  German  Crouzaz,3  and  Dutch  Burgersdyck. 
As  many  quit  the  streams  that  murmuring  fall 
To  lull  the  sons  of  Margaret  and  Clare-hall,4 
Where  Bentley  late  tempestuous  wont  to  sport 
In  troubled  waters,  but  now  sleeps  in  port.5 
Before  them  marched  that  awful  Aristarch;6 
Ploughed  was  his  front  with  many  a  deep  remark: 
His  hat,  which  never  vailed  to  human  pride, 
Walker7  with  reverence  took,  and  laid  aside. 
Low  bowed  the  rest:  he,  kingly,  did  but  nod; 
So  upright  Quakers  please  both  man  and  God. 
"Mistress!  dismiss  that  rabble  from  your  throne: 

Avaunt is  Aristarchus8  yet  unknown? 

Thy  mighty  scholiast,  whose  unwearied  pains 
Made  Horace  dull,  and  humbled  Milton's  strains. 
Turn  what  they  will  to  verse,  their  toil  is  vain, 
Critics  like  me9  shall  make  it  prose  again. 
Roman  and  Greek  grammarians !  know  your  better: 
Author  of  something  yet  more  great  than  letter; 

1  This  line  is  doubtless  spurious,  and  foisted  in  by  the  imperti- 
nence of  the  editor;  and  accordingly  we  have  put  it  between  hooks. 
For  I  affirm  this  college  came  as  early  as  any  other,  by  its  proper 
deputies;  nor  did  any  college  pay  homage  to  dulness  in  its  whole 
body. — Pope,  under  Bentley' s  name. 

2  In  the  year  1703  there  was  a  meeting  of  the  heads  of  the  univer- 
sity of  Oxford  to  censure  Mr.   Locke's  "  Essay  on  Human  Under- 
standing," and'to  forbid  the  reading  it.     See  his  letters  in  the  last 
edition.— Pope 

3  Author  of  an  abusive  commentary  on  the  "Essay  on  Man."— 
Warburton. 

4  The*  river  Cam  running  by  the  walls  of  these  colleges,  which  are 
famous  for  skill  in  disputation. 

6  Viz.,  "now  retired  into  harbour,  after  the  tempests  that  had 
long  agitated  his  society."  So  Scriblerus.  But  the  learned  Scipio 
Maffei  understands  it  of  a  certain  wine,  called  Port,  from  Oporto,  a 
city  of  Portugal,  of  which  this  professor  invited  him  to  drink  abund- 
antly.— Scip.  Maff.  De  Compotationibus  Acadernicis.  Pope. 

6  The  redoubtable  Bentley,  the  Cambridge  critic. 

7  John  Walker,  Vice-Master  of  Trin.  Coll.,  Cambridge,  while  Bent- 
ley  was  Master.    He  was  Bentley's  constant  friend. 

8  A  famous  commentator  and  corrector  of  Homer,  whose  name  has 
been  frequently  used  to  signify  a  complete  critic. — Pope. 

»  Bentley  had  much  injured  Milton  by  his  fancied  improvements, 
~Scril>l,  Pope, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  171 

While  towering  o'er  your  alphabet,  like  Saul, 

Stands  our  Digamma,1  and  o'ertops  them  all 

'Tis  true,  on  words  is  still  our  whole  debate, 

Disputes  of  me,  or  le,2  of  aut  or  at, 

To  sound  or  sink  in  cano,  O  or  A, 

Or  give  up  Cicero  to  C  or  K.3 

Let  Freind4  affect  to  speak  as  Terrence  spoke, 

And  Alsop  never  but  like  Horace  joke: 

For  me,  what  Virgil,  Pliny  may  deny, 

Manilius  or  Solinus5  shall  supply: 

For  Attic  phrase  in  Plato  let  them  seek, 

I  poach  in  Suidas6  for  unlicensed  Greek. 

In  ancient  sense  if  any  needs  will  deal, 

Be  sure  I  give  them  fragments,  not  a  meal: 

What  Gellius*or  Stobaeus  hashed  before, 

Or  chewed  by  blind  old  scholiasts  o'er  and  o'er. 

The  critic  eye,  that  microscope  of  wit, 

Sees  hairs  and  pores,  examines  bit  by  bit: 

How  parts  relate  to  parts,  or  they  to  whole, 

The  body's  harmony,  the  beaming  soul, 

Are  things  which  Kuster,7  Burman,  Wasse  shall  see 

When  man's  whole  frame  is  obvious  to  a  flea. 

"  Ah,  think  not,  mistress !  more  true  dulness  lies 
In  folly's  cap,  than  wisdom's  grave  disguise. 
Like  buoys  that  never  sink  into  the  flood, 
On  learning's  surface  we  but  lie  and  nod. 

1  Alludes  to   the  boasted  restoration  of  the   .ZEolic  Digamma,   in 
his  Ion"  projected  edition  of  Homer.    He  calls  it  something  more  than 
letter,  from  the  enormous  figure  it  would  make  among  the  other  letters, 
being  one  gamma  set  upon  the  shoulders  of  another. — Pope. 

2  It  was  a  serious  dispute,   about  which  the  learned  were  much 
divided,  and  some  treatises  written,  had  it  been  about  meum  or  tuum, 
it  could  not  be  more  contested,  than  whether  at  the  end  of  the  first  Ode 
of  Horace,  to  read,  me  doctarum  hederce  proemia  frontium,  or  te  doctarum 
hederoe. — Scribl.    Pope. 

3  Grammatical  disputes  about  the  pronunciation  of  Cicero's  name  in 
Greek. 

4  Dr.  Robert  Freind,  master  of  "Westminster  School,  and  canon  of 
Christ  Church — Dr.  Anthony  Alsop,  a  happy  imitator  of  the  Horatiau 
style.— Pope. 

5  Inferior  Latin  authors.     Solinus  has  been  called  Pliny's  ape.    He  is 
supposed  to  have  lived  in  the  third  century.    His  chief  work  was 
"Polyhistor."    Manilius  wrote  a  poem  on  "Astronomy." 

6  Suidas,  a  dictionary  writer;  a  collector  of  impertinent  facts  and 
barbarous  words ;    the    second,    Gellius,  a  minute  critic ;    the  third, 
Stobseus,  an  author,  who  gave  his  common-place  book  to  the  public, 
where  we  happen  to  find  much  mince-meat  of  good  old  authors. — Pope. 

7  Ludolph  Kuster,  a  German  literary  critic,  who  compiled  an  edition 
of  Sudias  in  England,  and  printed  it  at  Cambridge,  1705.    That  univer- 
sity conferred  on  him  a  doctor's  degree.    Franciscus  Burman,  Dutch 
theologian  and  professor ;  born  1671,  died  1719.    Joseph  Wasse,  English 
physician  and  philologist;  bom  1073,  died  1738, 


172  THE  DUNCIAD. 

Thine  is  the  genuine  head  of  many  a  house, 
And  much  divinity  without  a  ™o?. 
Nor  could  a  Barrow1  work  on  every  block,2 
Nor  has  one  Atterbury  spoiled  the  flock. 
See!  still  thy  own,  the  heavy  canon  roll, 
And  metaphysic  smokes  involve  the  pole. 
For  thee  we  dim  the  eyes  and  stuff  the  head 
With  all  such  reading  as  was  never  read: 
For  thee  explain  a  thing  till  all  men  doubt  it, 
And  write  about  it,  goddess,  and  about  it: 
So  spins  the  silk-worm  small  its  slender  store, 
And  labours  till  it  clouds  itself  all  o'er. 

"What  though  we  let  some  better  sort  of  fool 
Thrid  ev'ry  science,  run  through  ev'ry  school  ? 
Never  by  tumbler  through  the  hoops  was  shown 
Such  skill  in  passing  all,  and  touching  none;3 
He  may  indeed  (if  sober  all  this^  time) 
Plague  with  dispute,  be  persecute  with  rhyme. 
We  only  furnish  what  he  cannot  use, 
Or  wed  to  what  he  must  divorce,  a  muse: 
Full  in  the  midst  of  Euclid  dip  at  once, 
And  petrify  a  genius  to  a  dunce; 
Or  set  on  metaphysic  ground  to  prance 
Show  all  his  paces,  not  a  step  advance. 
With  the  same  cement,  ever  sure  to  bind, 
We  bring  to  one  dead  level  ev'ry  mind. 
Then  take  him  to  develop,  if  you  can, 
And  hew  the  block  off,4  and  get  out  the  man. 
But  wherefore  waste  I  words  ?  I  see  advance 

W ,  pupil,  and  laced  governor  from  France. 

Walker!  our  hat "  nor  more  he  deigned  to  say, 

But,  stern  as  Ajax'  spectre,  strode  away.5 

1  Isaac  Barrow,  Master  of  Trinity ;  Francis    Atterbury,   Dean  of 
Christ  Church,  both  great  geniuses  and  eloquent  preachers;  one  more 
conversant  in  the  sublime  geometry ;  the  other  in  classical  learning ; 
but  who  equally  made  it  their  care  to  advance  the  polite  arts  in  their 
several  societies. — Pope. 

2  An  ajlusion  to  the   Latin   proverb :— "  !N"on    ex   quovis  ligno  fil 
Mercurius." — Wakefield. 

3  These  two  verses  are  verbatim  from  an  epigram  of  Dr.  Evans,  of  St. 
John's  College,  Oxford;  given  to  my  father  twenty  years  before  the 
"Dunciad"  was  written.—  Warton. 

4  A  notion  of  Aristotle,  that  there  was  originally  in  every  block  of 
marble  s  statue,  which  would  appear  on  the  removal  of  the  superfluous 
parts.— Pope. 

5  See  Homer,  "Odyss."  xi.,  where  the  ghost  of  Ajax  turns  sullenly 
from  Ulysses  the  traveller,  who  had  succeeded  against  him  in  the  dis- 
pute for^the  arms  of  Achilles.    There  had  been  the  same  contention 


THE  DVNCIAD.  173 

In  flowed  at  once  a  gay  embroidered  race, 
And  tittering  pushed  the  pedants  off  the  place: 
Some  would  have  spoken,  but  the  voice  was  drowned 
By  the  French  horn,  or  by  the  opening  hound. 
The  first  came  forwards,  with  as  easy  inien, 
As  if  he  saw  St.  James's  and  the  queen. 
When  thus  th'  attendant  orator  begun, 
"Keceive,  great  empress!  thy  accomplished  son:1 
Thine  from  the  birth,  and  sacred  from  the  rod, 
A  dauntless  infant !  never  scared  with  God. 
The  sire  saw,, one  by  one,  his  virtues  wake: 
The  mother  begged  the  blessing  of  a  rake. 
Thou  gavest  that  ripeness,  which  so  soon  began, 
And  ceased  so  soon,  he  ne'er  was  boy,  nor  man. 
Through  school  and  college,  thy  kind  cloud  o'ercast, 
Safe  and  unseen  the  young  .ZEneas  past: 
Thence  bursting  glorious,2  all  at  once  let  down, 
Stunned  with  his  giddy  larum  half  the  town. 
Intrepid  then,  o'er  seas  and  lands  he  flew: 
Europe  he  saw,  and  Europe  saw  him  too.3 
There  all  thy  gifts  and  .graces  we  display, 
Thou,  only  thou,  directing  all  our  way ! 
To  where  the  Seine,  obsequious  as  she  runs, 
Pours  at  great  Bourbon's  feet  her  silken  sons; 
Or  Tiber,  now  no  longer  Eoman,  rolls, 
Vain  of  Italian  arts,  Italian  souls: 
To  happy  convents,  bosomed  deep  in  vines, 
Where  slumber  abbots,  purple  as  their  wines: 
To  isles  of  fragrance,  lily-silvered  vales, 
Diffusing  languor  in  the  panting  gales: 
To  lands  of  singing,  or  of  dancing  slaves, 
Love-whisp'ring  woods,  and  lute-resounding  waves. 
But  chief  her  shrine  where  naked  Yenus  keeps, 

between  the  travelling  and  the  university  tutor,  for  the  spoils  of  our 
young  heroes,  and  fashion  adjudged  it  to  the  former:  so  that  this 
might  well  occasion  the  sullen  dignity  in  departure,  which  Loiigiims 
so  much  admired. — Scribl.  Pope.  .  .  ' 

1  The  Duke  of  Kingston  was  meant. 

2  See  Virg.  "^En."  i. 

At  Yenus  obscuro  gradientes  ae're  sepsit 
Et  multo  nebulae  circuin  Dea  fudit  aiuictu 
Cernere  ne  quis  eos: — 1.  Neu  quis  coutiugere  possit; 
2.  Molirive  niorarn  ; — aut  3.  venieudi  poscere  causas. 
"Where  he  enumerates  the  causes  why  his  mother  took  this  care  of  him  ; 
to  wit,  1.  That  nobody  might  touch,  or  correct  him;  2.  Might  stop  or 
detain  him  ;  3  Examine  him  about  the  progress  he  had  made,  or  so  nmc.li 
as  guess  why  he  came  there.— Pope. 

3  The  pernicious  effects  of  too  early  travelling  ridiculed. 


174:  THE  DUNCIAD. 

And  Cupids  ride  the  lion  of  the  deeps;1 
Where,  eased  of  fleets,  the  Adriatic  main 
Wafts  the  smooth  eunuchs  and  enamoured  swain. 
Led  by  my  hand,  he  sauntered  Europe  round, 
And  gathered  ev'ry  vice  on  Christian  ground; 
Saw  ev'ry  court,  heard  ev'ry  king  declare 
His  royal  sense  of  operas  or  the  fair; 
The  stews  and  palace,  equally  explored, 

Intrigued  with  glory,  and  with  spirit  w d: 

Tried  all  hors-d'oeuvres,  all  liqueurs  defined, 

Judicious  drank,  and  greatly-daring  dinsd; 

Dropped  the  dull  lumber  of  the  Latin  store, 

Spoiled  his  own  language,  and  acquired  no  more; 

Ail  classic  learning  lost  on  classic  ground; 

And  last  turned  air,  the  echo  of  a  sound ! 2 

See  now,  half-cured,  and  perfectly  well  bred, 

With  nothing  but  a  solo  in  his  head; 

As  much  estate,  and  principle,  and  wit, 

As  Jansen,  Fleetwood,  Gibber3  shall  think  fit; 

Stolen  from  a  duel,  followed  by  a  nun, 

And,  if  a  borough  choose  him.  not,  undone; 

See,  to  my  country  happy  I  restore4 

This  glorious  youth,  and  add  one  Venus  more. 

Her  too  receive  (for  her  my  soul  adores) 

So  may  the  sons  of  sons  of  sons  of  w 

Prop  thine,  O  empress !  like  each  neighbour  throne, 
And  make  a  long  posterity  thy  own." 
Pleased,  she  accepts  the  hero,  and  the  dame, 
Wraps  in  her  veil,  and  frees  from  sense  of  shame. 

Then  looked,  and  saw  a  lazy,  loillng  sort, 
Unseen  at  church,  at  senate,  or  at  court, 
Of  erer-listless  loit'rers,  that  attend 
No  cause,  no  trust,  no  duty,  and  no  friend. 

1  The  winged  lion,  the  arras  of  Venice.     This  republic  heretofore  the 
most  considerable  in  Europe,  for  her  naval  force  and  the  extent  of  her 
commerce  ;  now  illustrious  for  her  carnivals. —  Warburton. 

2  Yot  less  a  body  than  echo  itself;  for  echo  reflects  sense  or  words  at 
least,  this  gentleman  only  airs  and  tunes: 

Sonus  est,  qui  vivit  in  illo. 
Ovid,  "Met."  Scriblerus.    Pope. 

3  Three  very  eminent  persons,  all  managers  of  plays ;  who,  though 
not  governors  by  profession,  had,  each  in  his  way,  concerned  them- 
selves in  the   education  of  youth:    and    regulated  their  wits,   their 
morals,  or  their  finances,  at  that* period  of  their  age  which  is  the  most 
important,  their  entrance  into  the  polite  world.     Of  the  In *t  of  these, 
and  his  talents  for  this  end,  see  book  i.  ver.  199,  &c. — Warburton. 

4  Madame  de  la  Touche,  the  celebrated  mistress  of  the  Duko. 


.THE  DUNGIAD.  175 

Thee  too,  my  Paridel  I1  she  marked  thee  there, 
Stretched  on  the  rack  of  a  too  easy  chair. 
And  heard  thy  everlasting  yawn  confess 
The  pains  and  penalties  of  idleness. 
She  pitied!  but  her  pity  only  shed 
Benigner  influence  on  thy  nodding  head. 

But  Armius,2  crafty  seer,  with  ebon  wand, 
And  well-dissembled  em'rald  on  his  hand, 
False  as  his  gems,  and  cankered  as  his  coins, 
Came,  crammed  with  capon,  from  where  Pollio  dines.8 
Soft,  as  the  wily  fox  is  seen  to  creep, 
Where  bask  on  sunny  banks  the  simple  sheep, 
Walk  round  and  round,  now  prying  here,  now  there, 
So  he;  but  pious,  whispered  first  his  prayer. 

"  Grant,  gracious  goddess !  grant  me  still  to  cheat, 
O  may  thy  cloud  still  cover  the  deceit ! 
Thy  choicer  mists  on  this  assembly  shed, 
But  pour  them  thickest  on  the  noble  head. 
So  shall  each  youth,  assisted  by  our  eyes, 
See  other  Csesars,  other  Homers  rise; 
Through  twilight  ages  hunt  th'  Athenian  fowl,4 
Which  Chalcis,  gods,  and  mortals  call  an  owl, 
Now  see  an  Attys,  now  a  Cecrops5  clear, 
Nay,  Mahomet !  the  pigeon  at  thine  ear;6 
Be  rich  in  ancient  brass,  though  not  in  gold, 
And  keep  his  lares,  though  his  house  be  sold: 
To  headless  Phoebe  his  fair  bride  postpone, 
Honour  a  Syrian  prince  above  his  own; 
Lord  of  an  Otho,  if  I  vouch  it  true; 
Blest  in  one  Niger,  till  he  knows  of  two." 

1  The  poet  seems  to  speak  of  this  young  gentleman  with  great  af- 
fection.   The  name  is  taken  from  Spenser,  who  gives  it  to  a  wander- 
ing courtly  squire,  that  travelled  about  for  the  same  reason,  for 
which  many  young  squires  are  now  fond  of  travelling,  and  especially 
to  Paris. — Pope. 

2  The  name  taken  from  Annius,  the  Monk  of  Viterbo,  famous  for 
many  impositions  and  forgeries  of  ancient  manuscripts  and  inscrip-| 
tions,  which  he  was  prompted  to  by  mere  vanity,  but  our  Annius  had 
a  more  substantial  motive.—  Warburton.    By  Annius  was  meant  Sir 
Andrew  Fountaine. —  Warton. 

3  This  seems  more  obscure  than  almost  any  other  passage  in  the 
whole.    Perhaps  he  meant  the  Prince  of  Wales'  dinners. — Bowles. 

4  The  owl  stamped  on  the  reverse  on  the  ancient  money  of  Athens. 

Which  Chalcis  guards,  and  mortals  call  an  owl, 
is  the  verse  by  which  Hobbes  renders  that  of  Homer.—  Warburton. 

5  Cecrops,  the  first  king  of  Athens,  of  whom  it  is  hard  to  suppose 
any  coins  extant. — Pope. 

6  Mahomet  professed  to  receive  divine  messages  from  a  pigeoa. 


176  THE  DUNCIAD. 

Mummius1    o'erheard    him;    Mummius,    fool-re- 
nowned, 

Who  like  his  Cheops2  stinks  above  the  ground, 
Fierce  as  a  startled  adder,  swelled,  and  said, 
Battling  an  ancient  sistrum  at  his  head: 

Speakest  thou  of  Syrian  princes?3  traitor  base !, 
Mine,  goddess !  mine  is  all  the  horned  race. 
True,  he  had  wit,  to  make  their  value  rise; 
From  foolish  Greeks  to  steal  them,  was  as  wise; 
More  glorious  yet,  from  barb'rous  hands  to  keep, 
When  Bailee  rovers  chased  him  on  the  deep. 
Then  taught  by  Hermes,4  and  divinely  bold, 
Down  his  own  throat  he  risked  the  Grecian  gold,. 
Eeceived  each  demi-god,  with  pious  care, 
Deep  in  his  entrails — I  revered  them  there, 
I  bought  them,  shrouded  in  that  living  shrine, 
And,  at  their  second  birth,  they  issue  mine. 

"Witness,    great    Ammon!    by    whose    horns    I 

swore,"6 

(Eeplied  soft  Annius)  "  this  our  paunch  before 
Still  bears  them,  faithful;  and  that  thus  I  eat, 
Is  to  refund  the  medals  with  the  meat. 
To  prove  me,  goddess !  clear  of  all  design, 
Bid  with  me  Pollio  sup,  as  well  as  dine: 
There  all  the  learned  shall  at  the  labour  stand, 
And  Douglas6  lend  his  soft,  obstetric  hand." 

1  This  name  is  not  merely  an  allusion  to  the  mummies  ho  was  so 
fond  of,  but  probably  referred  to  the  Roman  general  of  that  name, 
who  burned  Corinth,  and  committed  the  curious  statues  to  the  cap- 
tain of  a  ship,  assuring  him,  "that  if  any  were  lost  or  broken,  he 
should  procure  others  to  be  made  in  their  stead  :"  by  which  it  should 
seem  (whatever  may  be  pretended)  that  Mummies  was  no  virtuoso. 
—  Warburton.     (Dr.  Mead  meant.) 

2  A  king  of  Egypt,  whose  body  was  certainly  to  be  known,  as  being 
buried  alone  in  his  pyramid,  and  is  therefore  more  genuine  than 
any  of  the  Cleopatras.    This  royal  mummy,  being  stolen  by  a  wild* 
Arab,  was  purchased  by  the  consul  of  Alexandria,  and  transmitted 
to  the  museum  of  Mummius;  for  proof  of  which  he  brings  a  passage 
in  Sandys's  "  Travels,"  where  that  accurate  and  learned  voyager  as- 
sures us  that  he  saw  the  sepulchre  empty;  Which  agrees  exactly 
(saith  he)  with  the  time  of  the  theft  above  mentioned.     But  he  omits 
to  observe  that  Herodotus  tells  the  same  thing  of  it  in  his  time. — 
Warburton. 

3  The  strange  story  following,  which  may  be  talcen  for  a  fiction  of 
the  poet,  is  justified  by  a  true  relation  in  Spon's  Voyages. — Pope. 

4  Hermes  or  Mercury  was  the  god  of  thieves. 

5  Jupiter  Ammon  is  called  to  witness,  as  the  father  of  Alexander, 
to  whom  those  kings  succeeded,  and  whose  horns  they  wore  on 
their  medals. — Pope. 

6  A  physician  of  great  learning  and  no  less  taste ;  above  all  curious 
in  what  related  to  ««  Horace,"  of  whom  he  collected  every  edition, 
translation,  and  comment,  to  the  number  of  several  hundred  vol- 
umes,—  Warburton.    Pope. 


THE  D  UNCTAD.  .  177 

The  goddess  smiling  seemed  to  give  consent; 
So  back  to  Pollio,  hand  in  hand,  they  went. 

Then  thick  as  locusts  blackening  all  the  ground, 
A  tribe,  with  weeds  and  shells  fantastic  crowned, 
Each  with  some  wondrous  gift  approached  the  power, 
A  nest,  a  toad,  a  fungus,  or  a  flower. 
But  far  the  foremost,  two,  with  earnest  zeal 
And  aspect  ardent  to  the  throne  appeal. 

The  first  thus  opened:  "Hear  thy  suppliant's  call, 
Great  queen,  and  common  mother  of  us  all! 
Fair  from  its  humble  bed  I  reared  this  flower, 
Suckled,  and  cheered,  with  air,  and  sun,  and  shower, 
Soft  on  the  paper  ruff  its  leaves  I  spread, 
Bright  with  the  gilded  button  tipped  its  head; 
Then  throned  in  glass,  and  named  it  Caroline:1 
Each  maid  cried,  Charming !  and  each  youth,  Divine ! 
Did  nature's  pencil  ever  blend  such  rays, 
Such  varied  light  in  one  promiscuous  blaze ! 
Now  prostrate !  dead !  behold  that  Caroline : 
No  maid  cries,  Charming !  and  no  youth,  Divine ! 
And  lo,  the  wretch  !  whose  vile,  whose  insect  lust 
Laid  this  gay  daughter  of  the  spring  in  dust. 
Oh,  punish  him,  or  to  th'  Elysian  shades 
Dismiss  my  soul,  where  no  carnation  fades!" 
He  ceased,  and  wept.     With  innocence  of  mien, 
Th'  accused  stood  forth,  and  thus   addressed  the 
queen. 

"  Of  all  the  enamelled  race,  whose  silv'ry  wing 
Waves  to  the  tepid  zephyrs  of  the  spring, 
Or  swims  along  the  fluid  atmosphere, 
Once  brightest  shined  this  child  of  heat  and  air. 
I  saw,  and  started  from  its  vernal  bow'r, 
The  rising  game,  and  chased  from  flow'r  to  flow'*- 
It  fled,  I  followed;  now  in  hope,  now  pain; 
It  stopt,  I  stopt;  it  moved,  I  moved  again. 
At  last  it  fixed,  'twas  on  what  plant  it  pleased, 
And  where  it  fixed,  the  beauteous  bird  I  seized: 
Rose  or  carnation  was  below  my  care; 
I  meddle,  Goddess !  only  in  my  sphere. 

1  It  Is  a  compliment  which  the  florists  usually  pay  to  princes  and 
great  persons,  to  give  their  names  to  the  most  curious  flowers  of 
their  raising:  some  have  been  very  jealous  of  vindicating  this  hon- 
our, but  none  more  than  that  ambitious  gardener  at  Hammersmith, 
who  caused  his  favorite  to  be  painted  on  his  sign,  with  this  inscrip- 
tion, This  is  my  Queen  Caroline.— Warburton.  Pope, 


178  THE  DVNCIAD. 

I  tell  the  naked  fact  without  disguise, 
And,  to  excuse  it,  need  but  show  the  prize; 
Whose  spoils  this  paper  offers  to  your  eye, 
Fair  even  in  death !  this  peerless  butterfly. 

"My  sons!"  (she  answered)  "both  have  done  your 

parts; 

Live  happy  both,  and  long  promote  our  arts. 
But  hear  a  mother,  when  she  recommends 
To  your  fraternal  care  our  sleeping  friends.1 
The  common  soul,  of  Heav'ns'  more  frugal  make, 
Serves  but  to  keep  fools  pert,  and  knaves  awake; 
A  drowsy  watchman,  that  just  gives  a  knock, 
And  breaks  our  rest,  to  tell  us  what's  o'clock. 
Yet  by  some  object  ev'ry  brain  is  stirred; 
The  dull  may  waken  to  a  humming  bird; 
The  most  recluse,  discreetly  opened,  find 
Congenial  matter  in  the  cockle-kind; 
The  mind  in  metaphysics  at  a  loss, 
May  wander  in  a  wilderness  of  moss;2 
The  head  that  turns  at  super-lunar  things, 
Poised  with  a  tail,  may  steer  on  Wilkins'  wings.3 

"  O !  would  the  sons  of  men  once  think  their  eyes 
And  reason  giv'n  them  but  to  study  flies ! 
See  nature  in  some  partial  narrow  shape, 
And  let  the  Author  of  the  whole  escape:4 
Learn  but  to  trifle,  or,  who  most  observe, 
To  wonder  at  their  Maker,  not  to  serve !" 

"  Be  that  my  task  "  (replies  a  gloomy  clerk, 
Sworn  foe  to  mystery,  yet  divinely  dark;   ~ 
Whose  pious  hope  aspires  to  see  the  day 
When  moral  evidence  shall  quite  decay,5 

1  Of  whom  see  ver.  345  above.—  Warburton. 

2  Of  which  the  naturalists  count  I  can't  tell  how  many  hundred 
species.— Pope. 

3  One  of  the  first  projectors  of  the  Royal  Society,  who,  among  many 
enlarged  and  useful  notions,  entertained  the  extravagant  hope  of  a 
possibility  to  fly  to  the  moon ;  which  has  put  some  volatile  geniuses 
upon  making  wings  for  that  purpose.—  Warburton.    Pope. 

4  Are  there  not  many  who  on  this  count  still  merit  a  place  in  a 
"  Dunciad  ?" 

5  Alluding  to  a  ridiculous  and  absurd  way  of  some  mathematicians, 
in  calculating  the  gradual  decay  of  moril  evidence  by  mathemati- 
cal proportions,  according  to  which  calculation,  in  about  fifty  years 
it  will  be  no  longer  probable  that  Julius  Caesar  was  in  Gaul,  or  died 
in  the  senate  house.    See  Craig's  "  Theologiee  Christianas  Principia 
Mathematical'    But  as  it  seems  evident,  that  facts  of  a  thousand 
years  old,  for  instance,  are  now  as  probable  as  they  were  five  hun- 
dred years  ago;  it  is  plain  that  if  in  fifty  more  they  quite  dissap- 
pear,  it  must  be  owing,  not  to  their  arguments,  but  to  the  extraord.- 


THE  DUNG  I  AD.  179 

And  damns  implicit  faith,  and  holy  lies, 
Prompt  to  impose,  and  fond  to  dogmatize :) 
"  Let  others  creep  by  timid  steps,  and  slow, 
On  plain  experience  lay  foundations  low, 
By  common  sense  to  common  knowledge  bred, 
And  last,  to  nature's  cause  through  nature  led. 
All-seeing  in  thy  mists,  we  want  no  guide, 
Mother  of  arrogance,  and  source  of  pride ! 
We  nobly  take  the  high  Priori  Eoad,1 
And  reason  downward,  till  we  doubt  of  God; 
Make  nature  still2  encroach  upon  His  plan; 
And  shove  Him  off  as  far  as  e'er  we  can: 
Thrust  some  mechanic  cause  into  His  place;3 
Or  bind  in  matter,  or  diffuse  in  space. 
Or,  at  one  bound  o'erleaping  all  His  laws, 
Make  God  man's  image,  man  the  final  cause, 
Find  virtue  local,  ah1  relation  scorn, 
See  all  in  self,  and  but  for  self  be  born: 
Of  nought  so  certain  as  our  reason  still, 
Of  nought  so  doubtful  as  of  soul  and  will. 
Oh  hide  the  God  still  more !  and  make  us  see 
Such  as  Lucretius4  drew,  a  God  like  thee: 
Wrapped  up  in  self,  a  God  without  a  thought, 
Regardless  of  our  merit  or  default. 
Or  that  bright  image5  to  our  fancy  draw, 
Which  Theocles6  in  raptured  vision  saw, 
While  through  poetic  scenes  the  Genius  roves, 

inary  power  of  our  goddess;    for  whose  help  therefore  they  have 
reason  to  pray. —  Warburton.     Pope. 

1  Those  who,  from  the  effects  in  this  visible  world,  deduce  the 
Eternal  Power  and  Godhead  of  the  first  cause,  though  they  cannot 
attain  to  an  adequate  idea  of  the  Deity  yet  discover  so  much  of  Him, 
as  enables  them  to  see  the  end  of  their  creation,  arid  the  means  of 
their  happiness :  whereas  they  who  take  this  high  Priori  Road  (such 
as  Hobbes,  Spinoza,  Des  Cartes,  and  some  better  reasoners)  for  one 
that  goes  right,  ten  lose  themselves  in  mists,  or  ramble  after  visions, 
which  deprive  them  of  all  sight  of  their  end,  and  mislead  them  in 
the  choice  of  wrong  means. —  Warburton.    Pope. 

2  This  relates  to  such  as  being  ashamed  to  assert  a  mere  mechanic 
cause,  and  yet  unwilling  to  forsake  it  entirely,  have  had  recourse  to 
a  certain  plastic  nature,  elastic  fluid,  subtle  matter,  &c. —  Warburton. 
Pope. 

3  The  first  of  these  follies  is  that  of  Des  Cartes;  the  second  of  Hob- 
bes ;  the  third  of  some  succeeding  philosophers. — Pope. 

4  Lucretius  was  a  great  Koman  poet.    His  poem  "  On  the  Nature 
of  Things"  is,  however,  founded  on  the  doctrines  of  Epicurus. 

5  Bright  image  was  the  title  given  by  the  later  Platonists  to  that 
vision  of  nature  which  they  fiad  formed  out  of  their  own  fancy,  so 
bright,  that  they  called  it  A.VTOTTTOV  "AyaA/xa,  or  the  self -seen  image, 
i.  c.,  seen  by  its  own  light. — Scribl.    Pope. 

o  Lord  Shaftesbury,  who  was  a  Deist, 


180  THE  DUNCIAD. 

Or  wanders  wild  in  academic  groves; 

That  Nature  our  society  adores, 

Where  Tindal  dictates,  and  Silenus1  snores. 

Boused  at  his  name,  up  rose  the  bousy  sire, 
And  shook  from  out  his  pipe  the  seeds  of  fire;2 
Then  snapped  his  box,  and  stroked  his  belly  down; 
Kosy  and  rev'rend,  though  without  a  gown. 
Bland  and  familiar  to  the  throne  he  came, 
Led  up  the  youth,  and  called  the  Goddess  dame 
Then  thus:  "From  priest-craft  happily  set  free, 
Lo !  ev'ry  finished  son  returns  to  thee: 
First  slave  to  words,  then  vassal  to  a  name, 
Then  dupe  to  party;  child  and  man  the  same; 
Bounded  by  nature,  narrowed  still  by  art, 
A  trifling  head,  and  a  contracted  heart. 
Thus  bred,  thus  taught,  how  many  have  I  seen, 
Smiling  on  all,  and  smiled  on  by  a  queen?3 
Marked  out  for  honours,  honoured  for  their  birth, 
To  thee  the  most  rebellious  things  on  earth: 
Now  to  thy  gentle  shadow  all  are  shrunk, 
All  melted  down,  in  pension,  or  in  punk ! 
So  K*  so  B**  sneaked  into  the  grave, 
A  monarch's  half,  and  half  a  harlot's  slave. 
Poor  W**4  nipped  in  folly's  broadest  bloom, 
Who  praises  now  ?  this  chaplain  on  his  tomb. 
Then  take  them  all,  oh  take  them  to  thy  breast ! 
Thy  Magus,5  Goddess !  shall  perform  the  rest.       \\ 

With  that,  a  wizard  old  his  cup  extends; 
Which  whoso  tastes,  forgets  his  former  friends, 
Sire,  ancestors,  himself.     One  casts  his  eyes 
Up  to  a  star,  and  like  Endymion6  dies: 
A  feather,  shooting  from  another's  head, 
Extracts  his  brain;  and  principle  is  fled; — — - 
Lost  is  his  God,  his  country,  ev'ry  thing;  * — * 
And  nothing  left  but  homage  to  a  king ! -— 

1  Silenus  was  an  Epicurean  philosopher,  as  appears  from  Virgil, 
eclog.  vi.,  where  he  sings  the  principles  of  that  philosophy  in  his 
drink. —  Warburtrm.      By  Silenus  he  means  Thos.  Gordon,  a  violent 
Whig,  the  transalator  of  Tacitus,  who  published  the   "  Independent 
Whig,"  and  obtained  a  place  under  government. —  Warton. 

2  The  Epicurean  language,  Semina  rerum,  or  atoms,  Virg.,  eclog.  vi. 

"  Semina  iguis— semina  flammaB."  P. 

3  I.e.,  This  Queen  or  Goddess  of  Dulness. — Pope. 

*  Philip,  Duke  of  Wharton,  celebrated^or  his  profligacy  and  eccen- 
tricity.   He  died  in  exile,  1731.— Bowles. 

&  The  effect  of  the  Magus  cup  was  the  reverse.of  that  of  Circe, 
o  Endymiou  loved,  the  raoou, 


THE  DUNG  I  AD.  181 

The  vulgar  lierd  turn  off  to  roll  with  hogs, 
To  run  with  horses,  or  to  hunt  with  dogs, 
But,  sad  example!  never  to  escape 
Their  infamy,  still  keep  the  human  shape. 
But  she,  good  Goddess,  sent  to  ev'ry  child 
Firm  impudence,  or  stupefaction  mild; 
And  straight  succeeded,  leaving  shame  no  room, 
Cibberiaii  forehead,  or  Cimmerian  gloom. 

Kind  self-conceit  to  some  her  glass  applies, 
Which  no  one  looks  in  with  another's  eyes: 
But  as  the  flatt'rer  or  dependant  paint, 
Beholds  himself  a  patriot,  chief,  or  saint. 

On  others  Int'rest  her  gay  liv'ry  flings, 
Int'rest  that  waves  on  party-coloured  wings: 
Turned  to  the  sun,  she  casts  a  thousand  dyes, 
And,  as  she  turns,  the  colours  fall  or  rise. 

Others  the  siren  sisters  warble  round, 
And  empty  heads  console  with  empty  sound. 
No  more,  alas !  the  voice  of  fame  they  hear, 
The  balm  of  duhiess  trickling  in  their  ear. 
Great  C**,  H**,  P**,  B**,  K**, 
Why  all  your  toils  ?  your  sons  have  learned  to  sing. 
How  quick  ambition  hastes  to  ridicule ! 
The  sire  is  made  a  peer,  the  son  a  fool. 

On  some,  a  priest  succinct  in  amice  white 
Attends;  all  flesh  is  nothing  in  his  sight! 
Beeves,  at  his  touch,  at  once  to  jelly  turn, 
And  the  huge  boar  is  shrunk  into  an  urn: 
The  board  with  specious  miracles  he  loads, 
Turns  hares  to  larks,  and  pigeons  into  toads. 
Another  (for  in  all  what  one  can  shine  ?) 
Explains  the  seve  and  verdeur1  of  the  vine. 
"What  cannot  copious  sacrifice  atone  ? 
Thy  truffles,  Perigord !  thy  hams,  Bayonne ! 
With  French  libation,  and  Italian  strain, 
Wash  Bladen  white,  and  expiate  Hays's  stain.2 
Knight  lifts  the  head,  for  what  are  crowds  undone, 

1  French  terms  relating  to  wines. 

2  Bladen— Hays.    Names  of  gamesters.    Robert  Knight,  cashier  of 
the  South-sea  Company,  who  fled  from  England  in  1720,  (afterwards 
pardoned  in  1742).    These  lived  with  the  utmost  magnificence  at  Paris, 
jii id  kept  open  tables  frequented  by  persons  of  the  first  quality  in 
England,  and  even  by  princes  of  the  blood  of  Prance. — Pope.     Colonel 
Martin  Bladen  was  a  mail  of  some  literature,  and  translated  Cirsai-'s 
"Commentaries."    I  never  could  learn  that  he  had  offended  Pope.     Ho 
waa  uucle  to  Win.  Collins,  the  poet,  Avhom  he  left  an  estate. —  Warton. 


182  THE  DUNCIAD. 

To  three  essential  partridges  in  one  ? 
Gone  every  blush,  and  silent  all  reproach, 
Contending  princes  mount  them  in  their  coach. 

Next,  bidding  all  draw  near  on  bended  knees, 
The  queen  confers  her  titles  and  degrees. 
Her  children  first  of  more  distinguished  sort, 
Who  study  Shakespeare  at  the  Inns  of  Court,1 
Impale  a  glow-worm,  or  vertu  profess, 
Shine  in  the  dignity  of  F.K.S. 
Some,  deep  Free  Masons^  join  the  silent  race 
Worthy  to  fill  FyEEagoras's  place: 
Some  botanists,  or  florists  at  the  least, 
Or  issue Inenibers  of  'air annual  feast. 
Nor  past  the  meanest  unregarded,  one 
Rose  a  Gregorian,  one  a  Gormogon.2 
The  last,  not  least  in  honour  or  applause, 
Isis  and  Cam  made  doctors  of  her  lawrs. 

Then,  blessing  all,  "Go,  children  of  my  care! 
To  practice  now  from  theory  repair. 
Ah1  my  commands  are  easy,  short,  and  full: 
My  sons !  be  proud,  be  selfish,  and  be  dulL 
Guard  my  prerogative,  assert  my  throne: 
This  nod  confirms  each  privilege  your  own.3 
The  cap  and  switch  be  sacred  to  his  grace; 
With  staff  and  pumps  the  marquis  lead  the  race; 
From  stage  to  stage  the  licensed  earl  may  run, 
Paired  with  his  fellow-charioteer  the  sun; 
The  learned  baron  butterflies  design, 
Or  draw  to  silk  Arachne's  subtle  line;4 

1  Mr.  Thomas  Edwards.    He  wrote  "  The  Canons  of  Criticism,"  which 
Dr.  Johnson  commended ;  but  held  him  to  be  inferior  to  Warburton  as 
a  critic. 

2  A  sort  of  lay  brothers,  slips  from  the  roots  of  the  Free  Masons.— 
Pope. 

3  This  speech  of  Dulness  to  her  sons  at  parting  may  possibly  fall  short 
of  the  reader's  expectation  ;  who  may  imagine  the  godness  might  give 
them  a  charge  of  more  consequence,  and,  from  such  a  theory  as  is 
before  delivered,  incite  them  to  the  practice  of  something  more  extra- 
ordinary, than  to  personate  running-footmen,  jockeys,  stage  coach<iH-n, 
&c.  But  if  it  be  well  considered,  that  whatever  inclination  they  might 
have  to  do  mischief,    her  sons  are  generally  rendered  harmless  by 
their  inability  ;  and  that  it  is  the  common  effect  of  Dulness  (even  in  her 
greatest  efforts)  to  defeat  her  own  design  ;  the  poet,  I  am  persuaded, 
will  be  justified,  and  it  will  be  allowed  that  these  worthy  persons,  in 
their  several  ranks,  do  as  much  as  can  be  expected  from  them.—  Pope. 

4  This  is  one  of  the  most  ingenious  employments  assigned,  and  there- 
fore recemmended  only  to  peers  of  learning.     Of  weaving  stockings  of 
the  webs  of  spiders,  sue  the  "Philosophical  Transactions," — Warbur- 
ton.— Pope. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  183 

The  judge  to  dance  his  brother  sergeant  call;1 
The  senator  at  cricket  urge  the  ball; 
The  bishop  stow  (pontific  luxury!  ) 
An  hundred  souls  of  turkeys  in  a  pie; 
The  sturdy  squire  to  Gallic  masters  stoop, 
And  drown  his  lands  and  manors  in  a  soupe. 
Others  import  yet  nobler  arts  from  France, 
Teach  kings  to  fiddle,  and  make  senates  dance. 
Perhaps  more  high  some  daring  son  may  soar, 
Proud  to  my  list  to  add  one  monarch  more  ! 
And  nobly  conscious,  princes  are  but  things 
Born  for  first  ministers,  as  slaves  for  kings, 
Tyrant  supreme  !  shall  three  estates  command, 
Aid  make  one  mighty  Dunciad  of  the  land  !" 

More  slie  had  spoke,  but  yawned—  All  nature  nods: 
WEaOnortal  can  resist  the  yawn  of  G-oda? 
Churches  and  chapels  instantly  it  reached; 
(St.  James's  first,  for  leaden  G  -  preached)2 
Then  catched  the  schools;  the  hall  scarce  kept  awake; 
The  convocation  gaped,  but  could  not  speak: 
Lostwas  the  nation's  sense,  nor  couH 


WhiieTEeTlong  solid  unison  went  round: 

Wide^nd  more  wide,  it  spread  o'er  all  the  realm; 

Even  Palinurus3  nodded  at  the  helm: 

The  vapour  mild  o'er  each  committee  crept; 

Unfinished  treaties  in  each  office  slept; 

And  chiefless  armies  dozed  out  the  campaign; 

And  navies  yawned  for  orders  on  the  main. 

O  muse  !  relate^  (for  you  can  tell  alone 
Wits  have  short  memories,  and  dunces  none;, 
Kelate,  who  first,  who  last  resigned  to  Test; 
Whose  heads  she  partly,  whose  completely,  blest; 
What  charms  could  faction,  what  ambition  lull, 
The  venal  quiet,  and  entrance  the  dull;        [wrong  — 
Till  drowned  was  sense,  and  shame,  and  right,  and 
O  sing,  and  hush  the  nations  with  thy  song  ! 


1  Alluding,  perhaps,  to  that  ancient  and  solemn  dance,  intituled,  "  A 
Call  of  Sergeants."— Pope. 

2- Dr.  Gilbert,  Archbishop  of  York,  who  had  attacked  Dr.  King,  of 
Oxford,  whom  Pope  much  respected. — Warton.  It  is  asserted  that 
Dr.  Gilbert  was  really  an  eloquent  and  impressive  preacher.  See 
Bowles's  edition  of  Pope. 

3  Palinurus  was  the  pilot  of  .Eneas,  who  fell  into  the  sea  when 
sleeping  at  the  helm.  Sir  Robert  Walpole  is  here  meant  by  Palinu- 
rua. 


184  THE  DUNCIAD. 

In  vain,  in  vain,  —  t 


Resistless  falls:  the  muse  obeys  the  pow'r. 
Slie  comes  !  she  comes  !  the  sable  throne  behold 
yOf  Night  primeval  and  of  Chaos  old  ! 
'Before  her,  fancy's  gilded  clouds  decay, 
And  all  its  varying  rainbows  die  away. 
Wit  shoots  in  vain  its  momentary  fires, 
The  meteor  drops,  and  in  a  flash  expires. 
As  one  by  one,  at  dread  Medea's  strain, 
The  sick'ning  stars  fade  off  th'  ethereal  plain; 
As  Argus'  eyes  by  Hermes'  wand  opprest, 
Closed  one  by  one  to  everlasting  rest; 
Thus  at  her  felt  approach,  and  secret  might, 
Art  after  art  goes  out,  and  all  is  night. 
See  skulking  Truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled, 
Mountains  of  casuistry  heaped  o'er  her  head! 
Philosophy,  that  leaned  on  heaven  before, 
Shrinks  to  her  second  cause,  and  is  no  more. 
Physic  of  metaphysic  begs  defence, 
And  metaphysic  calls  for  aid  on  sense  ! 
See  mystery  to  mathematics  fly  ! 
In  vain  !  they  gaze,  turn  giddy,  rave,  and  die. 
Religion  blushing  veils  her  sacred  fires, 
And  unawares  morality  expires. 
For  public  flame,  nor  private,  dares  to  shine, 
Nor  human  spark  is  left,  nor  glimpse  divine  ! 
Lo!  thy  dread  empire,  Chaos!  is  restored; 
Light  dies  "Before  thy  uncreating  word;  , 
Thy  "Ean3",~great  Anar^TTets'tEe  curtain  fall, 
And  universal  darkness  buries  alL 


n 


AN   ESSAY   ON   MAN. 

TO  H.  ST.  JOHN,  LORD  BOLINGBROKE. 

WRITTEN  IN   1732.      INCORPORATED   IN  POPE'S  WORKS.  1735. 

THE  DESIGN. 

HAVING  proposed  to  write  some  pieces  on  human  life  and 
manners,  such  as  (to  use  my  Lord  Bacon's  expression)  "come 
home  to  men's  business  and  bosoms,"  I  thought  it  more  satis- 
factory to  begin  with  considering  man  in  the  abstract,  his 
nature  and  his  state ;  since,  to  prove  any  moral  duty,  to  en- 
force any  moral  precept,  or  to  examine  the  perfection  or  im- 
perfection of  any  creature  whatsoever,  it  is  necessary  first  to 
know  what  condition  and  relation  it  is  placed  in,  and  what  is 
the  proper  end  and  purpose  of  its  being. 

The  science  of  human  nature  is  like  all  other  sciences,  re- 
duced to  a  few  clear  points.  There  are  not  many  certain 
truths  in  this  world.  It  is  therefore  in  the  anatomy  of  the 
mind  as  in  that  of  the  body  ;  more  good  will  accrue  to  man- 
kind by  attending  to  the  large,  open,  and  perceptible  parts, 
than  by  studying  too  much  such  finer  nerves  and  vessels,  the 
conformations  and  uses  of  which  will  forever  escape  our  ob- 
servation. The  disputes  are  all  upon  these  last,  and,  I  will 
venture  to  say,  they  have  less  sharpened  the  wits  than  the 
hearts  of  men  against  each  other,  and  have  diminished  the 
practice,  more  than  advanced  the  theory,  of  morality.  If  I 
could  flatter  myself  that  this  Essay  has  any  merit,  it  is  in 
steering  betwixt  the  extremes  of  doctrines  seemingly  opposite, 
in  passing  over  terms  utterly  unintelligible,  and  in  forming1  a 
temperate  yet  not  inconsistent,  and  a  short  yet  not  imperfect, 
system  of  ethics. 

This  I  might  have  done  in  prose ;  but  I  chose  verse,  and  even 
rhyme,  for  two  reasons.  The  one  will  appear  obvious ;  that 
principles,  maxims,  or  precepts  so  written,  both  strike  the 
reader  more  strongly  at  first,  and  are  more  easily  retained  by 
him  afterwards;  the  other  may  seem  odd,  but  it  is  true.  I 
found  I  could  express  them  more  shortly  this  way  than  in 
prose  itself ;  and  nothing  is  more  certain,  than  that  much  of 
the  force  as  well  as  grace  of  arguments  or  instructions  depends 
on  their  conciseness.  I  was  unable  to  treat  this  part  of  my 
subject  more  in  detail,  without  becoming  dry  and  tedious ;  or 
more  poetically,  without  sacrificing  perspicuity  to  ornament, 

*  In  first  .edition,  "  out  of  all," 


186  'AN  ESS  A  Y  ON  MAN. 

without  wandering  from  the  precision,  or  breaking  the  chain 
of  reasoning ;  if  any  man  can  unite  all  these  without  diminu- 
tion of  any  of  them,  I  freely  confess  he  will  compass  a  thing 
above  my  capacity. 

What  is  now  published,  is  only  to  be  considered  as  a  gen- 
eral map  of  Man,  marking  out  no  more  than  the  greater  parts, 
their  extent,  their  limits,  and  their  connection,  and  leaving 
the  particular  to  be  more  fully  delineated  in  the  charts  which 
are  to  follow.  Consequently,  these  Epistles  in  their  progress 
(if  I  have  health  and  leisure  to  make  any  progress)  will  be  less 
dry,  and  more  susceptible  of  poetical  ornament.  I  am  here 
only  opening  the  fountains,  and  clearing  the  passage :  to  de- 
duce the  rivers,  to  follow  them  in  their  course,  and  to  observe 
their  effects,  may  be  a  task  more  agreeable. 


ARGUMENT  OF  EPISTLE  I. 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND  STATE  OF  MAN,  WITH  BESPECT  TO 

THE  UNIVERSE. 

Of  man  in  the  abstract. — I.  That  we  can  judge  only  with  regard  to 
our  own  system,  being  ignorant  of  the  relations  of  systems  and 
things,  ver.  17,  &c.— II.  That  man  is  not  to  be  deemed  imperfect, 
but  a  being  suited  to  his  place  and  rank  in  the  creation,  agree- 
able to  the  general  order  of  things,  and  conformable  to  ends  and 
relations  to  him  unknown,  ver.  35,  &c.— III.  That  it  is  partly 
upon  his  ignorance  of  future  events,  and  partly  upon  the  hope 
of  a  future  state,  that  ail  his  happiness  in  the  present  depends, 
ver.  77,  &.c. — IV.  The  pride  of  aiming  at  more  knowledge,  and 
pretending  to  more  perfection,  the  cause  of  man's  error  and 
misery.  The  impiety  of  putting  himself  in  the  place  of  God, 
and  judging  of  the  fitness  or  unfitness,  perfection  or  imperfec- 
tion, justice  or  injustice  of  His  dispensations,  ver.  109,  &c.— V. 
The  absurdity  of  conceiting  himself  the  final  cause  of  the  crea- 
tion, or  expecting  that  perfection  in  the  moral  world,  which  is 
not  in  the  natural,  ver.  131,  &c.— VI.  The  unreasonableness  of 
his  complaints  against  Providence,  while  on  the  one  hand  he  de- 
mands, the  perfections  of  the  angels,  and  on  the  other  the  bodily 
qualifications  of  the  brutes ;  though,  to  possess  any  of  the  sen- 
sitive faculties  in  a  higher  degree,  would  render  him  miserable, 
ver.  173,  &c.— VII.  That  throughout  the  whole  visible  world,  an 
universal  order  and  gradation  in  the  sensual  and  mental  facul- 
ties is  observed,  which  causes  a  subordination  of  creature  to 
creature,  and  of  all  creatures  to  man.  The  gradations  of  sense, 
instinct,  thought,  reflection,  reason :  that  reason  alone  counter- 
vails all  the  other  faculties,  ver.  207.— VIII.  How  much  further 
this  order  and  subordination  of  living  creatures  may  extend, 
above  and  below  us ;  were  any  part  of  which  broken,  not  that  part 
only,  but  the  whole  connected  creation  must  be  destroyed,  ver.  233 
— IX.  The  extravagance,  madness,  and  pride  of  such  a  desire,  ver. 
250.— X.  The  consequence  of  all,  the  absolute  submission  due  to 
Providence,  both  as  to  our  present  and  future  state,  ver.  281,  &c., 
to  the  end, 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  187 

EPISTLE  I 

AWAKE,  my  St.  John ! l  leave  all  meaner  things 
To  low  ambition,  and  the  pride  of  kings. 
Let  us,  since  life  can  little  more  supply 
Than  just  to  look  about  us  and  to  die, 
Expatiate  free  o'er  all  this  scene  of  Man;  \ 
A  mighty  maze !  but  not  without  a  plan;   , 
A  wild,  where  weeds  and  flow'rs  promiscuous  shoot; 
Or  garden,  tempting  with  forbidden  fruit. 
Together  let  us  beat  this  ample  field, 
Try  what  the  open,  what  the  covert  yield; 
The  latent  tracts,  the  giddy  heights,  explore 
Of  all  who  blindly  creep,  or  sightless  soar; 
•  Eye  nature's  walks,  shoot  folly  as  it  flies, 
And  catch  the  manners  living  as  they  rise; 
Laugh  where  we  must,  be  candid  where  we  can; 
But  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man.™ 

I.  Say  first,  of  God  above  or  Man  below, 
What  can  we  reason  but  from  what  we  know.? 
Of  Man,  what  see  we  but  his  station  here, 
From  which  to  reason,  or  to  which  refer  ? 
Through  worlds  unnumbered  though  the  God  be 

known, 

'Tis  ours  to  trace  Him  only  in  our  own. 
He,  who  through  vast  immensity  can  pierce, 
See  worlds  on  worlds  compose  one  universe, 
Observe  how  system  into  system  runs, 
What  other  planets  circle  other  suns, 
What  varied  being  peoples  ev'ry  star, 
May  tell  us  why  Heaven  has  made  us  as  we  are. 
But  of  this  frame  the  bearings,  and  the  ties, 
The  strong  connections,  nice  dependencies, 
Gradations  just,  has  thy  pervading  soul 
Looked  through,  or  can  a  part  contain  the  whole  ? 

Is  the  great  chain,2  that  draws  all  to  agree, 
And  drawn  supports,  upheld  by  God,  or  thee  ? 

H.  Presumptuous  man !  the  reason  wouldst  thou 
find, 

1  Henry  St.  John,  the  famous  Lord  Bolingbroke.     lie  was  the  son 
of  Sir  Henry  St.  John  of  Lydiard  Tregose,  in  Wiltshire.    He  fled  to 
France  to  escape  impeachment  for  treason  as  a  Jacobite  soon  after 
the  accession  of  George  I.,  but  was  pardoned  and  returned.    He  has 
been  called  the  English  Alcibiades:  his  best  work  is  the  '-'Patriot 
King." 

2  An  allusion  to  the  golden  chain  by  which  Homer  tells  us  the 
world  was  sustained,  by  Jove, 


188  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

Why  formed  so  weak,  so  little,  and  so  blind  ? 
First,  if  thou  canst,  the  harder  reason  guess, 
Why  formed  no  weaker,  blinder,  and  no  less? 
Ask  of  thy  mother  earth,  why  oaks  are  made 
Taller  or  stronger  than  the  weeds  they  shade  ? 
Or  ask  of  yonder  argent  field  above, 
Why  Jove's  satellites  are  less  than  Jove  ? 

•  Of  systems  possible,  if  'tis  confest 
That  Wisdom  Infinite  must  form  the  best, 
Where  all  must  full  or  not  coherent  be, 
And  aU  that  rises,  rise  in  due  degree; 
Then,  in  the  scale  of  reas'ning  life,  'tis  plain,  ^ 

There  must  be,  somewhere,  such  a  rank  as  Man:-^^ 
And  all  the  question  (wrangle  e'er  so  long) 
Is  only  this,  if  God  has  placed  him  wrong  ? 

Respecting  Man,  whatever  wrong  we  call, 
May,  must  be  right,  as  relative  to  all. 
In  human  works,  though  laboured  on  with  pain, 
A  thousand  movements  scarce  one  purpose  gain;--' 
In  God's,  one  single  can  its  end  produce; 
Yet  serves  to  second  too  some  other  use. 
So  man,  who  here  seems  principal  alone, 
Perhaps  acts  second  to  some  sphere  unknown,  -^ 
Touches  some  wheel,  or  verges  to  some  goal; 
JTis  but  a  part  we  see,  and  not  a  whole^ 

When  the  proud  steed  'shall  know  why  man  re- 
strains 

His  fiery  course,  or  drives  him  o'er  the  plains: 
When  the  dull  ox,  why  now  he  breaks  the  clod, 
Is  now  a  victim,  and  now  Egypt's  god:  * 
Then_shall  man's  pride  and  dulness  comprehend 
His  actions',  passions',  being's,  use  and  end; 
Why  doing,  suff'ring,  checked,  impelled;  and  why 
This  hour  a  slave,  the  next  a  deity. 

Then  say  not  Man's  imperfect,  Heaven  in  fault; 
Say  rather,  Man's  as  perfect  as  he  ought:  — 
His  knowledge  measured  to  his  state  and  place; 
His  time  a  moment,  and  a  point  his  space. 
If  to  be  perfect  in  a  certain  sphere, 
What  matter,  soon  or  late,  or  here  or  there  ? 
The  blest  to-day  is  as  completely  so, 
As  who  began  a  thousand  years  ago. 

1  TUo  ox  was  worshipped  in  ancient  Egypt  under  the  name  °£  Apia, 


AN  ESS  A  Y  ON  MAN.  189 

ITT.  Heav'n  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of 

fate. 

All  but  the  page  prescribed,  their  present  state : 
From  brutes  what  men,  from  men  what  spirits  know: 
Or  who  could  suffer  being  here  below  ? 
The  lamb  thy  riot  dooms  to  bleed  to-day, 
Had  he  thy  reason,  would  he  skip  and  play  ? 
Pleased  to  the  last,  he  crops  the  fiow'ry  food, 
And  licks  the  hand  just  raised  to  shed  his  blood. 
Oh,  blindness  to  the  future !  kindly  giv'n, 
That  each  may  fill  the  circle  marked  by  Heav'n, 
Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all,1 
A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall, 
Atoms  of  system  into  ruin  hurled, 
And  now  a  bubble  burst,  and  now  a  world. 

Hope  humbly  then;  with  trembling  pinions  soar; 

Wait  the  great  teacher  Death;  and  God  adore.- * 

What  future  bliss,  He  gives  not  thee  to  know, 
But  gives  that  hope  to  be  thy  blessing 
Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast: 
Man  never  Is,  but  always  To  be  blest  :_^_ 
The  soul,  uneasy  and  confined  from  home, 
Bests  and  expatiates  in  a  life  to  come. 

Lo,  the  poor  Indian !  whose  untutored  mind 
Sees  God  in  clouds,  or  hears  Him  in  the  wind; 
His  soul,  proud  science  never  taught  to  stray 
Far  as  the  solar  walk,  or  milky  way; 
Yet  simple  nature  to  his  hope  has  giv'n, 
Behind  the  cloud-topt  hill,  an  humbler  heav'n; 
Some  safer  world  in  depths  of  woods  embraced, 
Some  happier  island  in  the  watery  waste, 
Where  slaves  once  more  their  native  land  behold, 
No  fiends  torment,  no  Christians  thirst  for  gold. 
To  be,  contents  his  natural  desire, 
He  asks  no  angel's  wing,  no  seraph's  fire; 
But  thinks,  admitted  to  that  equal  sky, 
His  faithful  dog  shall  bear  him  company. 

IV.  Go,  wiser  thou.!  and,  in  thy  scale  of  sense, 
Weigh  thy  opinion  against  Providence; 
Call  imperfection  what  thou  fanciest  such, 
Say,  here  he  gives  too  little,  there  too  much:  ~~~ 
Destroy  all  creatures  for  thy  sport  or  gust, 

1  St.  Matt.  x.  29. 


190  AN  ESS  A  Y  ON  MAN. 

Yet  cry,  If  Man's  unhappy,  God's  unjust;/ 
If_^[an_aloiie  engross  not  Heaven's  high  care; 
Alone  made  perfect  here,  immortal  there: 
Snatch  from  His  hand  the  balance  and  the  rod, 
Ke-judge  His  justice,  be  the  god  of  God.  - 
In  pride,  in  reas'ning  pride,  our  error  lies; 
All  quit  their  sphere,  and  rush  into  the  skies. 
Pride  still  is  aiming  at  the  blest  abodes, 
Men  would  be  angels,  angels  would  be  gods. 
Aspiring  to  be  gods,  if  angels  fell, 
Aspiring  to  be  angels,  men  rebel: 
And  who  but  wishes  to  invert  the  laws 
Of  Order,  sins  against  "f^  Eternal  Cause. 

V.  Ask  for  what  end  the  heavenly  bodies  shine, 
Earth  for  whose  use  ?  Pride  answers,  "  ^TisJarjaiaeL, 
For  me  kind  nature  wake^heFgenial  pow'r, 
Suckles  each  herb,  and  spreads  out  every  flow'r: 
Annual  for  me,  the  grape,  the  rose  renew 
The  juice  nectareous,  and  the  balmy  dew; 
For  me,  the  mine  a  thousand  treasures  brings; 
For  me,  health  gushes  from  a  thousand  springs; 
Seas  roll  to  waft  me,  suns  to  light  me  rise, 
My  footstool  earth,  my  canopy  the  skies." 

But  errs  not  Nature  from  this  gracious  end, 
From  burning  suns  when  livid  deaths  descend, 
When  earthquakes  swallow,  or  when  tempests  sweep 
Towns  to  one  grave,  whole  nations  to  the  deep  ?* 
"  No  ('tis  replied),  the  first  Almighty  Cause*? 
Acts  not  by  partial,  but  by  gen'ral  laws;       / 
The  exceptions  few;  some  change  since  all  oegan; 
And  what  created  perfect  ?" — Why  then  Man  ? 
If  the  great  end  be  human  happiness, 
Then  nature  deviates;  and  can  man  do  less?. 
As  much  that  end  a  constant-course  requires 
Of  show'rs  and  sunshine,  as  of  man's  desires; 
As  much  eternal  springs  and  cloudless  skies, 
As  men  forever  temperate,  calm,  and  wise. 
If  plagues  or  earthquakes  break  not  Heaven  Vdesign,    fp,  i 
Why  then  a  Borgia,2  or  a  Catiline  ? 

1  Kircher  beheld  the  city  of  Euphemia  swallowed  up  by  an  earth- 
quake before  his  eyes  ;    only  a  "  dismal    putrid  lake,"  he  says, 
"  marked  the  spot  where  it  had  stood."    The  catastrophes  of  Lis- 
bon, Scilla,  &c.,  are  well  known. 

2  Caesar  Borgia,  the  son  of  Pope  Alexander  VI.,  was  the  scourge  of 
Italy  from  1492  to  1507     Catiline's  conspiracy  against  Roman  free- 
dom is  well  known, 


ft  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  191 

VTho  know  but  lie,  whose  hand  the  lightning  forms, 

Who  heaves  old  ocean,  and  who  wings  the  storms; 

Pours  fierce  Ambition  in  a  Caesar's  mind 

Or  turns  young  Ammon1  loose  to  scourge  mankind  ? 

From  pride,  from  pride,  our  very  reas'ning  springs; 

Account  for  moral,  as  for  natural  things: 

Why  charge  we  Heav'n  in  those,  in  the^e  acquit ! 

In  both  to  reason  right  is  to  submit. 

Better  for  us,  perhaps,  it  might  appear, 
Were  there  all  harmony,  all  virtue  here; 
That  never  air  or  ocean  felt  the  wind; 
That  never  passion  discomposed  the  mind. 
But  all  subsists  by  elemental  strife; 
And  passions  are  the  elements  of  life. 
The  gen'ral  order,  since  the  whole  began, 
Is  kept  in  nature,  and  is  kept  in  man.  [soar, 

VI.  What  would  this  Man  ?    Now  upward  will  he 
And  little  less  than  angel,  would  be  more;  / 

Now  looking  downwards,  just  as  grieved  appears 
To  want  the  strength  of  bulls,  the  fur  of  bears. 
Made  for  his  use  all  creatures  if  ha  call, 
Say  what  their  use,  had  he  the  pow'rs  of  all  ? 
Nature  to  these,  without  profusion,  kind, 
The  proper  organs,  proper  powers  assigned; 
Each  seeming  want  compensated  of  course, 
Here  with  degrees  of  swiftness,  there  of  force;2 
All  in  exact  proportion  to  the  state; 
Nothing  to  add,  and  nothing  to  abate. 
Each  beast,  each  insect,  happy  in  its  own: 
Is  Heav'n  unkind  to  man,  and  man  alone  ? 
Shall  he  alone,  whom  rational  we  call, 
Be  pleased  with  nothing,  if  not  blessed  with  all  ? 

The  bliss  of  man  (could  pride  that  blessing  find) 
Is  not  to  act  or  think  beyond  mankind; 
No  pow'rs  of  body  or  cf  soul  to  share,     ^3i/^ 
But  what  his  nature  and  his  state  can  b< 
Why  has  not  man  a  microscopic  eye?  I- 
For  this  plain  reason,  man  is  not  a  flyjj 
Say  what  the  use,  were  finer  optics  giv'n, 
To  inspect  a  mite,  not  comprehend  the  heav'n  ? 

1  "  Young  Ammon,"  Alexander  the  Great,  who  pretended  to  be  the 
son  of  Jupiter  Ammon. 

2  It  is  a  certain  axiom  in  the  anatomy  of  creatures,  that  in  propor- 
tion as  they  are  formed  for  strength,  their  swiftness  is  lessened;  or 
as  they  are-forraed  lor  swiftness,  their  strength  is  abated.— 


102  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

Or  touch,  if  tremblingly  alive  all  o'er, 

To  smart  and  agonize  at  ev'iy  pore  ? 

Or  quick  effluvia  darting  through  the  brain, 

Die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain  ? 

If  nature  thundered  in  his  op'ning  ears, 

And  stunned  him  with  the  music  of  the  spheres, 

How  would  he  wish  that  Heaven  had  left  him  still 

The  whisp'ring  zephyr,  and  the  purling  rill ! 

Who  finds  not  Providence  ah1  good  and  wise,i 

Alike  in  what  it  gives,  and  what  denies?         I 

VII.  Far  as  creation's  ample  range  extends, 
The  scale  of  sensual,  mental  powers  ascends: 
Mark  how  it  mounts,  to  man's  imperial  race, 
From  the  green  myriads  in  the  peopled  grass: 
What  modes  of  sight  betwixt  each  wide  extreme, 
The  mole's  dim  curtain,  and  the  lynx's  beam : 
Of  smell,  the  headlong  lioness  between,1 
And  hound  sagacious  on  the  tainted  green: 
Of  hearing,  from  the  life  that  fills  the  flood, 
To  that  which  warbles  through  the  vernal  wood : 
The  spider's  touch,  how  exquisitely  fine ! 
Feels  at  each  thread,  andjives  along  the  line: 
In  the  nice  bee,  what  sense  so  subtly  true 
From  poisonous  herbs  extracts  the  healing  dew? 
How  instinct  varies  in  the  grovelling  swine, 
Compared,  half -reasoning  elephant,  with  thine  ? 
'Twixt  that,  and  reason,  what  a  nice  barrier, 
For  ever  sep'rate,  yet  for  ever  near ! 
Remembrance  and  reflection  now  allied ; 
What  thin  partitions  sense  from  thought  divide, 
And  middle  natures  how  they  long  to  join, 
'Yet  never  pass  the  insuperable  line ! 
Without  this  just  gradation  could  they  be 
Subjected,  these  to  those,  or  all  tothee? 
The  pow'rs  of  all  subdued  by  thee  alone, 
Is  not  thy  reason  ah1  these  powers  in  one  ? — 

VIIL  See  through  this  air,  this  ocean,  and  this 

earth, 
All  matter  quick,  and  bursting  into  birth. 

i  The  manner  of  the  lions  hunting  their  prey  in  the  deserts  of 
Africa  is  this :  at  their  first  going  out  in  the  night-time  they  set  up  a 
loud  roar,  and  then  listen  to  the  noise  made  by  the  beasts  in  their 
flight,  pursuing  them  by  the  ear,  and  not  by  the  nostril.  It  is  proba- 
ble the  story  of  the  jackal's  hunting  for  the  lion,  was  occasioned  by 
observation  of  this  defect  of 'scent  in  that  terrible  animal,—  Pope, 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  193 

Above,  how  high,  progressive  life  may  go ! 

Around,  how  wide!  how  deep  extend  below! 
•/  Vast  chain  of  being !  which  from  God  began* 
/  Natures  ethereal,  hiunan,  angel,  man, 

Beast,  bird,  fish,  insect,  what  no  eye  can  see, 
\    No  glass  can  reach;  -from  infinite  to  thee, 

From  thee  to  no  thing.  - — On  superior  pow'rs  / 

/ 


we  to  press,  inferior  might  on  ours: 
Or  in  the  fulTcreation  leave  a  void, 
Where,  one  step  broken,  the  great  scale's  destroyed  :- 
FfoinlNalure's  chain  whatever  link  you  strike, 
Tenth,  or  ten  thousandth,  Breaks  the  chain  alike 

And,  if  each  system  in  gradation  roll 
Alike  essential  to  the  amazing  whole, 
The  least  confasion  but  in  one,  not  all 
That  system  otdy,  but  the  whole  must  fall. 
Let  earth  unbalanced  from  her  orbit  fly, 
Planets  and  suns  run  lawless  through  the  sky; 
Let- rilling  angeJs  from  their  spheres  be  hurledj 
Being  on  being  wrecked,  and  world  on  world; 
Heav'n's  whole  foundations  to  their  centre  nod, 
And  nature  tremble  to  the  throne  of  God. 
All  this  dread  order  break — for  whom ?  for  thee? 
"Vile" worm! — Oh,  madness!  pride!  impiety! 

IX.  What  if  the  foot,  ordained  the  dust  to  tre 
Or  hand,  to  toil,  aspired  to  be  the  head  ? 
What  if  the  head,  the  eye,  or  ear  repined 
To  serve  mere  engines  to  the  ruling  mind  ? 
Just  as  absurd  for  any  part  to  claim 
To  be  another,  in  this  general  frame  ; 
Just  as  absurd  to  mourn  the  tasks  or  pains,1 
The  great  directing  mind  of  all  ordains.    . -\ 

All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole,! 
Whose  body  Nature  is,  and  God  the  soulj^^^ 
That,  changed  through  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same; 
Great  in  the  earth,  as  in  the  ethereal  frame; 
Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees, 
Lives  through  all  life,  extends  through  all  extent, 
Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent; 
Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part, 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair  as  heart: 

/x  Yide  the  prosecution  and  application  of  this  in  Ep.  iv. — Pnr>*- 


194  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  man  that  mourns, 
As  the  wrapt  seraph  that  adores  and  burns: 
To  him  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  small; 
He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all. 
X.  Cease  then,  nor  order  imperfection  name: 

Our  proper  bliss  depends  on  what  we  blame: 

Know  thy  own  point:  this  kind,  this  due  degree 
Of  blindness,  weakness,  Heav'B.  bestows  on  thee. 
Submit. — *In  this,  or  any  other  sphere, 
Secure  to  be  as  blest  as  thou  canst  bear: 
Safe  in  the  hand  of  one  disposing  power, 
Or  in  the  natal,  or  the  mortal  hour.  ^^^ 

All  nature  is  but  art,  unknown  to  thee;-^*^ 
All  chance,  direction,  which  thou  canst  not  see; 
All  discord,  harmony  not  understood; 

AH  partial  evil,  universal  good: — • 

And,  spite  of  pride,  in  erring  reason's  spite, 
One  truth  is  clear,  Whatever  is,  is  right.- 


AEGUMENT   OF   EPISTLE   II 

OF    THE  .  NATURE    AND    STATE    OF  MAN   WITH    RESPECT    TO 
HIMSELF,  AS  AN  INDIVIDUAL. 

1.  The  "business  of  man  not  to  pry  into  God,  but  to  study  himself.  His 
middle  nature;  his  powers  and  frailties,  ver.  1-19.  The  limits 
of  his  capacity,  ver.  19.  &c. — II.  The  two  principles  of  man,  self- 
love  and  reason,  both  necessary,  ver.  53.  &c.  Self-love  the  stronger, 
and  why,  ver.  67,  &c.  Their  end  the  same,  ver.  81.  &c.—  III.  The 
passions,  and  their  use,  ver.  93-130.  The  predominant  passion,  and. 
its  force,  ver.  132-160.  Its  necessity,  in  directing  men  to  differei  t 
purposes,  ver.  165,  &c.  Its  providential  use,  in  fixing  our  principl 
and  ascertaining  our  virtue,  ver.  177.— IV.  Virtue  and  vice  joiiu-t . 
in  our  mixed  nature ;  the  limits  near,  yet  the  things  separate  am. 
evident:  What  is  the  office  of  reason,  ver.  202-216.— V.  Ho  - 
odious  vice  in  itself,  and  how  we  deceive  ourselves  into  it,  ver.  21 
VI.  That,  however,  the  ends  of  Providence  and  general  good  are 
answered  in  our  passions  and  imperfections,  ver.  238,  &c.  How 
usefully  these  are  distributed  to  all  orders  of  men,  ver.  241.  How 
useful  they  are  to  society,  ver.  251.  And  to  individuals,  ver.  263. 
ID.  every  state,  and  every  age  of  life,  ver.  273,  &c. 


EPISTLE  H. 

I.  KNOW  then  thyself,  presume  not  God  to  scan; 
The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man. 
Placed  on  this  isthmus  of  a  middle  state, 


AN  ESSA  Y  ON  MAN.  195 

A  being  darkly  wise,  and  rudely  great: 
With  too  much  knowledge  for  the  sceptic  side,/ 
With  too  much  weakness  for  the  stoic's  pride, 
He  hangs  between;  in  doubt  to  act,  or  rest; 
In  doubt  to  deem  himself  a  god,  or  beast; — — 

In  doubt  his  mind  or  body  to  prefer; 

Born  but  to  die,  and  reasoning  but  to  err.;- — 
Alike  in  ignorance,  his  reason  such, 
Whether  he  thinks  too  little,  or  too  much: 
Chaos  of  thought  and  passion,  all  confused; 
Still  by  himself  abused,  or  disabused; 
Created  half  to  rise,  arid  half  to  fall; — — 
m  Great  lord  of  ah1  things,  yet  a  prey  to  all; 
Sole  judge  of  truth,  in  endless  error  hurled: 
The  glory,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world! 

Go,   wondrous   creature !    mount  where    science 

guides, 

Go,  measure  earth,  weigh  air,  and  state  the  tides; 
Instruct  the  planets  in  what  orbs  to  run, 
Correct  old  Time,  and  regulate  the  sun; 
Go,  soar  with  Plato  to  the  empyreal  sphere, 
To  the  first  good,  first  perfect,  and  first  fair; 
Or  tread  the  mazy  round  his  followers  trod, 
And  quitting  sense  call  imitating  God; l 
As  eastern  priests  in  giddy  circles  run, 
And  turn  their  heads  to  imitate  the  sun. 
Go,  teach  eternal  wisdom  how  to  rule — 
Then  drop  into  thyself,  and  be  a  fool ! 

Superior  beings,  when  of  late  they  saw 
A  mortal  man  unfold  all  nature's  law, 
Admired  such  wisdom  in  an  earthly  shape, 
And  showed  a  Newton  as  we  show  an  ape. 

Could  he,  whose  rules  the  rapid  cornet  bind, 
Describe  or  fix  one  movement  of  his  mind  ? 
Who  saw  its  fires  here  rise,  and  there  descend, 
Explain  his  own  beginning,  or  his  end  ? 
Alas,  what  wonder !  man's  superior  part 
Unchecked  may  rise,  and  climb  from  art  to  art; 
But  when  his  own  great  work  is  but  begun, 
What  reason  weaves,  by  passion  is  undone. 

Trace  science  then,  with  modesty  thy  guide; 
First  strip  off  all  her  equipage  of  pride; 

1  The  new  platonics  taught  by  Ammonius  Saccas  towards  the  end 
of  the  second  century, 


196  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

Deduct  what  is  but  vanity,  or  dress 

Or  learning's  luxury,  or  idleness; 

Or  tricks  to  show  the  stretch  of  human  brain, 

Mere  curious  pleasure,  or  ingenious  pain; 

Expunge  the  whole,  or  lop  the  excrescent  parts 

Of  all  our  vices  have  created  arts; 

Then  see  how  little  the  remaining  sum, 

Which  served  the  past,  and  must  the  times  to  come ! 

H.  Two  principles  in  human  nature  reign;/ 
Self-love,  to  urge,  and  reason,  to  restrain;      /  ^— 

Nor  this  a  good,  nor  that  a  bad  we  cal£ 
Each  works  its  end,  to  move  or  govern  all; 
And  to  their  proper  operation  still,  f  \ 

Ascribe  all  good;  to  their  improper,  ill.  — i 

Self-love,  the  spring  of  motion,  acts1  the  soul? 

Reason's  comparing  balance  rules  the  whole. J 

Man,  but  for  that,  no  action  could  attend, 

And  but  for  this,  were  active  to  no  end: 

Fixed  like  a  plant  on  his  peculiar  spot, 

To  draw  nutrition,  propagate,  and  rot; 

Or,  meteor-like,  flame  lawless  through  the  void, 

Destroying  others,  by  himself  destroyed. 

Most  strength  the  moving  principle  requires; 
Active  its  task,  it  prompts,  impels,  inspires. 
Sedate  and  quiet  the  comparing  lies, 
Formed  but  to  check,  deliberate,  and  advise. 
Self-love  still  stronger,  as  its  object's  nigh; 
Reason's  at  distance,  and  in  prospect  He: 
That  sees  immediate  good  by  present  sense; 
Reason,  the  future  and  the  consequence. 
Thicker  than  arguments,  temptations  throng, 
At  best  more  watchful  this,  but  that  more  strong. 
The  action  of  the  stronger  to  suspend, 
Reason  still  use,  to  reason  still  attend. 
Attention,  habit  and  experience  gains; 
Each  strengthens  reason,  and  self-love  restrains. 

Let  subtle  schoolmen  teach  these  friends  to  fight, 
More  studious  to  divide  than  to  unite; 
And  grace  and  virtue,  sense  and  reason  split, 
With  all  the  rash  dexterity  of  wit. 
Wits,  just  like  fools,  at  war  about  a  name, 
Have  full  as  oft  no  meaning,  or  the  same. 

*  Used  for  "  actuates," 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  197 

Self-love  and  reason  to  one  end  aspire. 
Pain  their  aversion,  pleasure  their  desire; 
But  greedy  that,  its  object  would  devour, 
This  taste  the  honey,  and  not  wound  the  flow'r: 
Pleasure,  or  wrong  or  rightly  understood, 
Our  greatest  evil,  or  our  greatest  good. 

III.  Modes  of  self-love  the  passions  we  may  calb 
JTis  real  good,  or  seeming,  moves  them  all: 
But  since  not  ev'ry  good  we  can  divide, 
And  reason  bids  us  for  our  own  provide; 
Passions,  though  selfish,  if  their  means  be  fair, 
List  under  reason,  and  deserve  her  care; 
Those,  that  imparted,  court  a  nobler  aim, 
Exalt  their  kind,  and  take  some  virtue's  name. 

In  lazy  apathy  let  stoics  boast 
Their  virtue  fixed;  'tis  fixed  as  in  a  frost; 
Contracted  all,  retiring  to  the  breast; 
But  strength  of  mind  is  exercise,  not  rest: 
The  rising  tempest  puts  in  act  the  soul, 
Parts  it  may  ravage,  but  preserves  the  whole. 
On  life's  vast  ocean  diversely  we  sail. 
Keason  the  card,1  but  passion  is  the  gale; 
Nor  God  alone  in  the  still  calm  we  find, 
He  mounts  the  storm,  and  walks  upon  the  wind. 

Passions,  like  elements,  though  born  to  fight, 
Yet,  mixed  and  softened,  in  His  work  unite: 
These  'tis  enough  to  temper  and  employ; 
But  what  composes  man,  can  man  destroy  ? 
Suffice  that  reason  keep  to  nature's  road, 
Subject,  compound  them,  follow  her  and  God. 
Love,  hope,  and  joy,  fair  pleasure's  smiling  train, 
Hate,  fear,  and  grief,  the  family  of  pain, 
These  mixed  with  art,  and  to  due  bounds  confined^ 
Make  and  maintain  the  balance  of  the  mind: 
The  lights  and  shades,  whose  well-accorded  strife 
Gives  all  the  strength  and  colour  of  our  life. 

Pleasures  are  ever  in  our  hands  or  eyes; 
And  when  in  act  they  cease,  in  prospect  rise: 
Present  to  grasp,  and  future  still  to  find, 
The  whole  employ  of  body  and  of  mind. 
All  spread  their  charms,  but  charm  not  all  alike; 
On  diff'rent  senses  diff'rent  objects  strike; 

1  The  "card"  on  which  the  points  of  the  mariners'  compass  aro 
marked,  signifies,  of  course,  the  compass  itself. 


198  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

Hence  diff  rent  passions  more  or  less  inflame,  . 
As  strong  or  weak  the  organs  of  the  fvame; 
And  hence  one  master  passion  in  the  breast,    / 
Like  Aaron's  serpent,  swallows  up  the  rest.     / 

As  man,  perhaps,  the  moment  of  his  breath, 
Keceives  the  lurking  principle  of  death; 
The  young  disease,  that  must  subdue  at  length; 
Grows  with  nis  growth,  and  strengthens  with  his 

strength: 

So,  cast  and  mingled  with  his  very  frame, 
The  mind's  disease,  its  ruling  passion  came; 
Each  vital  humour  which  should  feed  the  whole, 
Soon  flows  to  this,  in  body  and  in  soul: 
•  Whatever  warms  the  heart,  or  fills  the  head, 
As  the  mind  opens,  and  its  functions  spread, 
Imagination  plies  her  dang'rous  art, 
And  pours  it  all  upon  the  peccant  part. 

Nature  its  mother,  habit  is  its  nurse; 
'Wit,  spirit,  faculties,  but  make  it  worse; 
Reason  itself  but  gives  it  edge  and  power; 
As  heaven's  blest  beam  turns  vinegar  more  sour. 

We,  wretched  subjects,  though  to  lawful  sway, 
In  this  weak  queen  some  fav'rite  still  obey: 
Ah !  if  she  lend  not  arms,  as  well  as  rules, 
What  can  she  more  than  tell  us  we  are  fools? 
Teach  us  to  mourn  our  nature,  not  to  mend, 
A  sharp  accuser,  but  a  helpless  friend! 
Or  from  a  judge  turn  pleader,  to  persuade 
The  choice  we  make,  or  justify  it  made* 
Proud  of  an  easy  conquest  all  along, 
She  but  removes  weak  passions  for  the  strong: 
So,  when  small  humours  gather  to  a  gout, 
The  doctor  fancies  he  has  driven  them  out. 

Yes,  nature's  road  must  ever  be  preferred:  — 
Beason  is  here  no  guide,  but  still  a  guard: 
3Tis  hers  to  rectify,  not  overthrow, 
And  treat  this  passion  more  as  friend  than  foe: 
A  mightier  pow'r  the  strong  direction  sends, 
And  sev'ral  men  impels  to  sev'ral  ends: 
Like  varying  winds,  by  other  passions  tost, 
This  drives  them  constant  to  a  certain  coast. 
Let  power  or  knowledge,  gold  or  glory,  please, 
Or  (oft  more  strong  than  all)  the  love  of  ease; 
Through  life  'tis  followed,  even  at  life's  expense; 


AN  ESS  A  Y  ON  MAN.  199 

The  merchant's  toil,  the  sage's  indolence, 
The  monk's  humility,  the  hero's  pride, 
All,  all  alike,  find  reason  on  their  side. 

The  Eternal  Art  educing  good  from  ill,  ~~~ 
Grafts  on  this  passion  our  best  principle: 
'Tis  thus  the  mercury  of  man  is  fixed, 
Strong  grows  the  virtue  with  his  nature  mixed; 
The  dross  cements  what  else  were  too  refined, 
And  in  one  int'rest  body  acts  with  mind. 

As  fruits,  ungrateful  to  the  planter's  care, 
On  savge  stocks  inserted  learn  to  bear; 

The  surest  virtues  thus  from  passions  shoot, " 

Wild  nature's  vigour  working  at  the  root. 

What  crops  of  wit  and  honesty  appear 

From  spleen,  from  obstinacy,  hate,  or  fear ! 

See  anger,  zeal  and  fortitude  supply; 

Even  avarice,  prudence;  sloth,  philosophy; 

Lust,  through  some  certain  strainers  well  refined, 

Is  gentle  love,  and  charms  all  womankin^ 

Envy,  to  which  the  ignoble  mind's  a  slave,/ 

Is  emulation  in  the  learned  or  brave;  _^ 

Nor  virtue,  male  or  female,  can  we  name, 

But  what  will  grow  on  pride,  or  grow  on  shame._ 

Thus  nature  gives  us  (let  it  check  our  pride) 
The  virtue  nearest  to  our  vice  allied:   . 
Reason  the  bias  turns  to  good  from  ill, 
And  Nero  reigns  a  Titus,  if  he  will. 
The  fiery  soul  abhorred  in  Catiline, 
In  Decius  charms,  in  Curtius  is  divine j 
The  same  ambition  can  destroy  or  s 
And  makes  a  patriot  as  it  makes  a  knave, 

•  This  Hffht  and  cjn.rfcnp«st  ir>  rmv  pVmpg  jm'Tio/1 

What  shall  divide?     The  H-nd  -yyifjn'n  thr  minrli8 

iDxtremes  in  nature  equal  ends  produce, 
In  man  they  join  to  some  mysterious  use; 
Though  each  by  turns  the  other's  bound  invade, 
As,  in  some  well-wrought  picture,  light  and  shade 
And  oft  so  mix,  the  difference  is  too  nice 

i  Decius,  who  devoted  himself  to  the  infernal  gods,  and  rushed  to 
his  death  in  battle  because  he  had  learned  in  a  vision  that  the  army 
would  be  victorious  whose  general  should  fall.  Curtis  leaped  into  a 
gulf  which  had  opened  in  the  Roman  Forum,  and  could  not  be  closed 
till  the  most  valuable  thing  to  Rome  had  been  cast  in.  It  was  a  war- 
rior on  his  horse  and  in  his  armour. 

a  Conscience;^  a  sublime  expression  of  Plato's. 


200  AN  JESS  A  Y  ON  MAN. 

Where  ends  the  virtue,  or  begins  the  vice.  *"" 

Fools !  who  from  hence  into  the  notion  fall, 
That  vice  or  virtue  there  is  none  at  all. 
If  white  and  black  blend,  soften  and  unite 
A  thousand  ways,  is  there  no  black  or  white  ? 
Ask  your  own  heart,  and  nothing  is  so  plain; 
"Tis  to  mistake  them,  costs  the  time  and  pain. 
(Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen; 
Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace.^ 
But  where  the  extreme  of  vice,  was  ne'er  agreed: 
Ask  where's  the  north  ?  at  York,  'tis  on  the  Tweed; 
In  Scotland,  at  the  Orcades;  and  there, 
At  Greenland,  Zembla,  or  the  Lord  knows  where. 
No  creature  owns  it  in  the  first  degree, 
But  thinks  his  neighbour  further  gone  than  he: 
Even  those  who  dwell  beneath  its  very  zone, 
Or  never  feel  the  rage,  or  never  own; 
What  happier  natures  shrink  at  with  affright, 
The  hard  inhabitant  contends  is  right. 

Virtuous  and  vicious  ev'ry  man  must  be, 
Few  in  the  extreme,  but  all  in  the  degree ; 
The  rogue  and  fool  by  fits  is  fair  and  wise; 
And  even  the  best,  by  fits,  what  they  despise. 
3Tis  but  by  parts  we  follow  good  or  ill; 
For,  vice  or  virtue,  self  directs  it  still; 
Each  individual  seeks  a  sev'ral  goal; 
But  HeaVn's  great  view  is  one,  and  that  the  whole.J 
That  counter- works  each  folly  and  caprice; 
That  disappoints  the  effect  of  every  vice; 
That,  happy  frailties  to  all  ranks  applied, 
Shame  to  the  virgin,  to  the  matron  pride, 
Fear  to  the  statesmen,  rashness  to  the  chief, 
To  kings  presumption,  and  to  crowds  belief; 
That,  virtue's  ends  from  vanity  can  raise, 
Which  seeks  no  int'rest,  no  reward  but  praise: 
And  build  on  wants,  and  on  defects  of  mind, 
The  joy,  the  peace,  the  glory  of  mankind. 

Heav'n  forming  each  on  other  to  depend, 
A  master,  or  a  servant,  or  a  friend, 
Bids  each  on  other  for  assistance  call, 
Till  one  man's  weakness  grows  the  strength  of  all 
Wants,  frailties,  passions,  closer  still  ally 


AN  ESS  A  Y  ON  MAN.  201 

The  common  interest,  or  endear  the  tie. 
To  these  we  owe  true  friendship,  love  sincere, 
Each  home-felt  joy  that  life  inherits  here; 
Yet  from  the  same  we  learn,  in  its  decline, 
Those  joys,  those  loves,  those  interests  to  resign; 
Taught  half  by  reason,  half  by  mere  decay, 
To  welcome  death,  and  calmly  pass  away. 

Whate'er  the  passion,  knowledge,  fame,  or  pelf, 
Not  one  will  change  his  neighbour  with  himself. 
The  learned  is  happy  nature  to  explore, 
The  fool  is  happy  that  he  knows  no  more; 
The  rich  is  happy  in  the  plenty  giv'n, 
The  poor  contents  him  with  the  care  of  heav'n. 
See  the  blind  beggar  dance,  the  cripple  sing, 
The  sot  a  hero,  lunatic  a  king; 
The  starving  chemist  in  his  golden  views,1 
Supremely  blest,  the  poet  in  his  muse. 

See  some  strange  comfort  ev'ry  state  attend,  *- 
And  pride  bestowed  on  all,  a  common  friend; 
See  some  fit  passion  ev'ry  age  supply, 
Hope  travels  through,  nor  quits  us  when  we  die. 

Behold  the  child,  by  Nature's  kindly  law, 
Pleased  with  a  rattle,  tickled  with  a  straw: 
Some  livelier  play-thing  gives  his  youth  delight, 
A  little  louder,  but  as  empty  quite: 
Scarfs,  garters,  gold,  amuse  his  riper  stage, 
And  beads  and  prayer-books  are  the  toys  of  age: 
Pleased  with  this  bauble  still,  as  that  before; 
'Till  tired  he  sleeps,  and  life's  poor  play  is  o'er. 

Meanwhile  opinion  gilds  with  varying  rays 
Those  painted  clouds  that  beautify  our  days; 
Each  want  of  happiness  by  hope  supplied, 
And  each  vacuity  of  sense  by  pride: 
These  build  as  fast  as  knowledge  can  destroy; 
In  folly's  cup  still  laughs  the  bubble,  joy; 
One  prospect  lost,  another  still  we  gain: 
And  not  a  vanity  is  given  in  vain, 
Even  mean  self-love  becomes,  by  force  divine, 
The  scale  to  measure  others'  wants  by  thine. 
See !  and  confess,  one  comfort  still  must  rise,    \ 
'Tis  this,  Though  man's  a  fool,  yet  God  is  wise.  \ 

J  The  alchemist  in  search  of  the  Philosopher's  Stone. 


202  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 


ARGUMENT  OF  EPISTLE  HI. 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND  STATE  OF  MAN  WITH  RESPECT  TO 
SOCIETY. 

I.  The  whole  universe  one  system  of  Society,  ver.  7,  &c.  Nothing 
made  wholly  for  itself,  nor  yet  wholly  for  another,  ver.  27.  The 
happiness  of  animals  mutual,  ver.  49.— II.  Reason  or  instinct 
operates  alike  to  the  good  of  each  individual,  ver.  79.  Reason  or 
instinct  operates  also  to  society,  in  all  animals,  ver.  109.— III. 
How  far  Society  carried  by  Instinct,  ver.  115.  How  much  further 
by  Reason,  ver.  128.— IV.  Of  that  which  is  called  the  State  of 
Nature,  ver.  144.  Reason  instructed  by  Instinct  in  the  invention 
of  Arts,  ver.  166,  and  in  the  .forms  of  Society,  ver.  176.— V.  Origin 
of  Political  Societies,  ver.  196.  origin  of  Monarchy,  ver.  207. 
Patriarchal  Government,  ver.  212.— VI.  Origin  of  true  Religion 
and  Government,  from  the  same  principle,  of  Love,  ver.  231,  &c. 
Origin  of  Superstition  and  Tyranny,  from  the  same  principle,  of 
Fear,  ver  237,  &c.  The  influence  of  Self-love  operating  to  the 
social  and  public  Good,  ver  266.  Restoration  of  true  Religion  and 
Government  on  their  first  principle,  ver.  285.  Mixed  Govern- 
ment, ver.  288.  Various  Forms  of  each,  and  the  true  end  ol  all. 
ver.  300,  &c. 

EPISTLE  IIL 

HERE  then  we  rest;  "  the  Universal  Cause 
Acts  to  one  end,  but  acts  by  various  laws." 
In  all  the  madness  of  superfluous  health, 
The  trim  of  pride,  the  impudence  of  wealth, 
Let  this  great  truth  be  present  night  and  day; 
But  most  be  present,  if  we  preach  or  pray. 

Look  round  our  world;  behold  the  chain  of  love 
Combining  all  below  and  all  above. 
See  plastic  Nature  working  to  this  end, 
The  single  atoms  each  to  other  tend, 
Attract,  attracted  to,  the  next  in  place 
Formed  and  impelled  its  neighbour  to  embrace. 
See  matter  next,  with  various  life  endued, 
Press  to  one  centre  still,  the  gen'ral  good. 
See  dying  vegetables  life  sustain, 
See  life  dissolving  vegetate  again: 
All  forms  that  perish  other  forms  supply, 
(By  turns  we  catch  the  vital  breath,  and  die,)1 
Like  bubbles  on  the  sea  of  matter  born, 
They  rise,  they  break,  and  to  that  sea  return, 
Nothing  is  foreign:  parts  relate  to  whole; 
One  all-extending,  all-preserving  soul 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  203 

Connects  each  being,  greatest  with  the  least; 
Made  beast  in  aid  of  man,  and  man  of  beast; 
All  served,  all  serving:  nothing  stands  alone; 
The  chain  holds  on,  and  where  it  ends,  unknown. 

Has  God,  thou  fool!  worked  solely  for  thy  good. 
Thy  joy,  thy  pastime,  thy  attire,  thy  food? 
"Who  for  thy  table  feeds  the  wanton  fawn, 
For  him  as  kindly  spreads  the  flow'ry  lawn: 
Is  it  for  thee  the  lark  ascends  and  sings? 
Joy  tunes  his  voice,  joy  elevates  his  wings. 
Is  it  for  thee  the  linnet  pours  his  throat  ? 
Loves  of  his  own  and  raptures  swell  the  note. 
The  bounding  steed  you  pompously  bestride, 
Shares  with  his  lord  the  pleasure  and  the  pride. 
Is  thine  alone  the  seed  that  strews  the  plain  ? 
The  birds  of  heav'n  shall  vindicate  their  grain. 
Thine  the  full  harvest  of  the  golden  year  ? 
Part  pays,  and  justly,  the  deserving  steer: 
The  hog,  that  ploughs  not,  nor  obeys  thy  call, 
Lives  on  the  labours  of  this  lord  of  all. 

Know,  Nature's  children  ah1  divide  her  care; 
The  fur  that  warms  a  monarch,  warmed  a  bear. 
While  man  exclaims,  "  See  all  things  for  my  use !" 
"See  man  for  mine!"  replies  a  pampered  goose: 
And  just  as  short  of  reason  he  must  fall, 
Who  thinks  all  made  for  one,  not  one  for  all. 

Grant  that  the  powerful  still  the  weak  control; 
Be  man  the  wit  and  tyrant  of  the  whole: 
Nature  that  tyrant  checks;  he  only  knows, 
And  helps,  another  creature's  wants  and  woes. 
Say,  will  the  falcon,  stooping  from  above, 
Smit  with  her  varying  plumage,  spare  the  dove  ? 
Admires  the  jay  the  insect's  gilded  wings! 
Or  hears  the  hawk  when  Philomela  sings  ? 
Man  cares  for  all :  to  birds  he  gives  his  woods, 
To  beasts  his  pastures,  and  to  fish  his  floods; 
For  some  his  interest  prompts  him  to  provide, 
For  more  his  pleasure,  yet  for  more  his  pride: 
AH  feed  on  one  vain  patron,  and  enjoy 
The  extensive  blessing  of  his  luxury. 
That  very  life  his  learned  hunger  craves, 
He  saves  from  famine,  from  the  savage  saves; 
Nay,  feasts  the  animal  he  dooms  his  feast, 
And,  till  he  ends  the  being,  makes  it  blest; 


204  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

Which  sees  no  more  the  stroke,  or  feels  the  pain, 
Than  favoured  man  by  touch  ethereal  slain.1 
The  creature  had  his  feast  of  life  before; 
Thou  too  must  perish,  when  thy  feast  is  o'er ! 

To  each  unthinking  being,  Heaven,  a  friend, 
Gives  not  the  useless  knowledge  of  its  end: 
To  man  imparts  it;  but  with  such  a  view 
As,  while  he  dreads  it,  makes  him  hope  it  too: 
The  hour  concealed,  and  so  remote  the  fear, 
Death  still  draws  nearer,  never  seeming  near. 
Great  standing  miracle !  that  Heav'n  assigned 
Its  only  thinking  thing  this  turn  of  mind. 

IL   Whether  with  reason,  or  with  instinct  blest, 
Know,  all  enjoy  that  pow'r  which  suits  them  best;  — 
To  bliss  alike  by  that  direction  tend, 
And  find  the  means  proportioned  to  their  end.  *•— 
Say,  where  full  instinct  is  the  unerring  guide, 
What  Pope  or  council  can  they  need  beside? 
Beason,  however  able,  cool  at  best, 
Cares  not  for  service,  or  but  serves  when  prest, 
Stays  till  we  call,  and  then  not  often  near; 
But  honest  Instinct  comes  a  volunteer, 
Sure  never  to  o'er-shoot,  but  just  to  hit; 
While  still  too  wide  or  short  is  human  wit; 
Sure  by  quick  nature  happiness  to  gain, 
Which  heavier  reason  labours  at  in  vain. 
This  too  serves  always,  reason  never  wrong; 
One  must  go  right,  the  other  may  go  wrong. 
See  then  the  acting  and  comparing  pow'rs 
One  in  their  nature,  which  are  two  in  ours; 
And  reason  raise  o'er  instinct  as  you  can, 
In  this  'tis  God  directs,  in  that  'tis  man. 

Who  taught  the  nations  of  the  field  and  wood 
To  shun  their  poison,  and  to  choose  their  food? 
Prescient,  the  tides  or  tempests  to  withstand, 
Build  on  the  wave,  or  arch  beneath  the  sand? 
Who  made  the  spider  parallels  design, 
Sure  as  Demoivre,2  without  rule  or  line  ? 

1  Several  of  the  ancients,  and  many  qf  the  orientals  since,  esteemed 
those  who  were  struck  by  lightning  as  sacred  persons,  and  the  particu- 
lar favourites  of  Heaven. — Pope. 

*  An  eminent  mathematician. — Pope.  He  was  born  at  Vitry  in 
Champagne,  in  1667.  Driven  from  France  by  the  revocation  of  the 
E'lict  of  Nantes,  he  settle.d  in  London,  and  died  there  in  1754.  He  wa# 
u  friend  of  Newton. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  205 

Who  did  the  ^  stork,  Columbus-like  explore 
Heavens  not  his  own,  and  worlds  unknown  before  ? 
Who  caUs  the  council,  states  the  certain  day, 
Who  forms  the  phalanx,  and  who  points  the  way? 

HE.  God  in  the  nature  of  each  being  founds! 
Its  proper  bliss,  and  sets  its  proper  bounds:     | 
But  as  he  framed  a  whole,  the  whole  to  bless, 
On  mutual  wants  built  mutual  happiness  • 
Wo  trom  the  lirsi  eternal  order  ran, 
And  creature  Tmkftfl  -fro  creature,  man  to  man. 
Whate'er  of  life  all  quick'iiing  ether  keeps, 
Or  breathes  through  air,  or  shoots  beneath  the  deeps, 
Or  pours  profuse  on  earth,  one  nature  feeds 
The  vital  flame,  and  swells  the  genial  seeds. 
Not  man  alone,  but  all  that  roam  the  wood, 
Or  wing  the  sky,  or  roll  along  the  flood, 
Each  loves  itself,  but  not  itself  alone, 
Each  sex  desires  alike,  till  two  are  one.  "-" 
Nor  ends  the  pleasure  with  the  fierce  embrace; 
They  love  themselves,  a  third  time,  in  their  race. 
Thus  beast  and  bird  their  common  charge  attend, 
The  mothers  nurse  it,  and  the  sires  defend; 
The  young  dismissed  to  wander  earth  or  air, 
There  stops  the  instinct,  and  th^re  ends  the  care; 
The  link  dissolves,  each  seeks  a  fresh  embrace, 
Another  love  succeeds,  another  race. 
A  longer  care  man's  helpless  kind  demands: 
That  longer  care  contracts  more  lasting  bands: 
Reflection,  reason,  still  the  ties  improve, 
At  once  extend  the  interest,  and  the  love; 
With  choice  we  fix,  with  sympathy  we  burn; 
Each  virtue  in  each  passion  takes  its  turn; 
And  still  new  needs,  new  helps,  new  habits  rise, 
That  graft  benevolence  on  charities. 
Still  as  one  brood,  and  as  another  rose, 
These  natural  love  maintained,  habitual  those: 
The  last,  scarce  ripened  into  perfect  man, 
Saw  helpless  him  from  whom  their  life  began: 
Memory  and  forecast  just  returns  engage, 
That  pointed  back  to  youth,  this  on  to  age; 
While  pleasure,  gratitude,  and  hope  combined, 
Still  spread  the  int'rest,  and  preserved  the  kind. 

IV.  Nor  think,  in  nature's  state  they  blindly  trod; 
The  state  of  nature  was  the  reign  of  God: 


206  AN  ESS  A  Y  ON  MAN. 

Self-love  and  social  at  her  birth  began, 
Union  the  bond  of  all  things,  and  of  man. 
Pride  then  was  not;  nor  arts,  that  pride  to  aid; 
Man  walked  with  beast,  joint  tenant  of  the  shade; 
The  same  his  table,  and  the  same  his  bed; 
No  murder  clothed  him,  and  no  nmrder  fed. 
In  the  same  temple,  tho  resounding  wood, 
All  vocal  beings  hymned  their  equal  God: 
The  shrine  with  gore  unstained,  with  gold  undrest, 
Unbribed,  unbloody,  stood  the  blameless  priest: 
Ileav'n's  attribute  w^as  universal  care, 
And  man's  prerogative  to  rule,  but  spare. 
Ah !  how  unlike  the  man  of  times  to  come ! 
Of  half  that  live  the  butcher  and  the  tomb; 
Who,  foe  to  nature  hears  the  general  groan, 
Murders  their  species,  and  betrays  his  own. 
But  just  disease  to  luxury  succeeds, 
And  ev'ry  death  its  own  avenger  breeds; 
The  fury  -passions  from  that  blood  began, 
And  turned  on  man  a  fiercer  savage,  man. 
See  him  from  nature  rising  slow  to  art! 
To  copy  instinct  then  was  reason's  part; 
Thus  then  to  man  the  voice  of  nature  spake —  , 
"Go,  from  the  creatures  the  instructions  take: 
Learn  from  the  birds  what  food  the  thickets  yield; 
Learn  from  the  beasts  the  physic  of  the  field; 
Thy  arts  of  building  from  the  bee  receive ; 
Learn  of  the  mole  to  plough,  tho  worm  to  weave; 
Learn  of  the  little  nautilus  to  sail, 
Spread  the  thin  oar,  and  catch  the  driving  gale. 
Here  too  all  forms  of  social  union  find. 
And  hence  let  reason,  late,  instruct  mankind; 
Here  subterranean  works  and  cities  see:. 
There  towns  aerial  on  the  waving  tree. 
Learn  each  small  people's  genius,  policies, 
The  ant's  republic,  and  the  realm  of  bees; 
.How  those  in  common  all  their  wealth  bestow, 
And  anarchy  without  confusion  know; 
And  these  forever,  though  a  monarch  reign, 
Their  separate  cells  and  properties  maintain. 
Mark  what  unvaried  laws  preserve  each  state, 
Laws  wise  as  nature,  and  as  fixed  as.  fate. 
In  vain  thy  reason  finer  webs  shall  draw, 
Entangle  justice  in  her  net  of  law, 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  207 

And  right,  too  rigid,  harden  into  wrong, 

Still  for  the  strong  too  weak,  the  weak  too  strong. 

Yet  go !  and  thus  o'er  all  the  creatures  sway, 

Thus  let  the  wiser  make  the  rest  obey; 

And,  for  those  arts  mere  instinct  could  afford, 

Be  crowned  as  monarchs,  or  as  gods  adored." 

V.  Great  Nature  spoke:  observant  man  obeyed; 
Cities  were  built,  societies  were  made; 

Here  rose  one  little  state;  another  near 
.      Grew  by  like  means,  and  joined,  through  love  or  fear. 
Did  here  the  trees  with  ruddier  burdens  bend, 
And  there  the  streams  in  purer  rills  descend  ? 
What  war  could  ravish,  commerce  could  bestow, 
And  he  returned  a  friend,  who  came  a  foe. 
Converse  and  love  mankind  might  strongly  draw, 
I      When  love  was  liberty,  and  nature  law. 
^    Thus  states  were  formed;  the  name  of  king  unknown,"" 
'Till  common  interest  placed  the  sway  in  one. 
'Twas  virtue  only  (or  in  arts  or  arms, 
Diffusing  blessings,  or  averting  harms) 
The  same  which  in  a  sire  the  sons  obeyed, 
A  prince  the  father  of  a  people  made.  [sate, 

VI.  Till  then,  by  Nature  crowned,  each  patriarch 
King,  priest,  and  parent  of  his  growing  state; 

On  him,  their  second  Providence,  they  hung, 
Their  law  his  eye,  their  oracle  his  tongue. 
He  from  the  wandering  furrow  called  the  food, 
Taught  to  command  the  fire,  control  the  flood, 
Draw  forth  the  monsters  of  the  abyss  profound, 
Or  fetch  the  aerial  eagle  to  the  ground. 
Till  drooping,  sick'ning,  dying,  they  began 
Whom  they  revered  as  God  to  mourn  as  man; 
Then,  looking  up  from  sire  to  sire,  explored 
One  great  first  Father,  and  that  first  adored. 
Or  plain  tradition  that  this  all  begun, 
Conveyed  unbroken  faith  from  sire  to  son;  ^ 

The  worker  from  the  work  distinct  was  known,  — 
And  simple  reason  never  sought  but  one;  — 
>  Ere  wit  oblique  had  broke  that  steady  light, 
,  Man,  like  his  Maker,  saw  that  all  was  right; 
To  virtue,  in  the  paths  of  pleasure,  trod, 
And  owned  a  father  when  he  owned  a  God.  -*•" 
Love  all  the  faith,  and  all  the  allegiance  then; 
/  For  Nature  knew  no  right  divine  in  men. 


, 

jj 
[I 

Jtf 

1 


208  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

No  ill  could  fear  in  God;  and  understood/ 
A  sov'reign  being  but  a  sov'reign  good.  / 
True  faith,  true  policy,  united  ran, 
That  was  but  love  of  God,  and  this  of  man. 

Who  first  taught  souls  enslaved,  and  realms  undone, 
The  enormous  faith  of  many  made  for  one; 
That  proud  exception  to  all  Nature's  laws, 
To  invert  the  world,  and  counter  work  its  cause  ? 
Force  first  made  conquest,  and  that  conquest,  law; 
Till  superstition  taught  the  tyrant  awe, 
Then  shared  the  tyranny,  then  lent  it  aid, 
And  gods  of  conquerors,  slaves  of  subjects  made: 
She  'midst  the  lightning's  blaze,  and  thunder's  sound, 
When  rocked  the  mountains,  and  when  groaned  the 

ground, 

She  taught  the  weak  to  bend,  the  proud  to  pray, 
To  power  unseen,  and  mightier  far  than  they: 
She,  from  the  rending  earth  and  bursting  skies, 
Saw  gods.descend,  and  fiends  infernal  rise: 
Here  fixed  the  dreadful,  there  the  blest  abodes; 
Fear  made  her  devils,  and  weak  hope  her  gods; 
Gods  partial,  changeful,  passionate,  unjust,  ^~ 
Whose  attributes  were  rage,  revenge,  or  lust; 
Such  as  the  souls  of  cowards  might  conceive,    1 
And,  formed  like  tyrants,  tyrants  would  believe. 
Zeal  then,  not  charity,  became  the  guide; 
And  liell  was  built  on  spite,  and  heaven  on  pride.  _ 
Then  sacred  seemed  the  ethereal  vault  no  more; 
Altars  grew  marble  then,  and  reeked  with  gore: 
Then  first  the  Flamen  tasted  living  food; 
Next  his,  grim  idol  smeared  with  human  blood; 
With  heaven's  own  thunders  shook  the  world  below, 
And  played  the  god  an  engine  on  his  foe. 

So  drives  self-love,  through  just  and  through  un- 

just, 

To  one  man's  pow'r,  ambition,  lucre,  lust: 
The  same  self-love,  in  all,  becomes  the  cause 
Of  what  restrains  him,  government  and  laws. 
For  what  one  likes  if  others  like  as  well, 
What  serves  one  will,  when  many  wills  rebel  ?i 
How  shall  he  keep,  what,  sleeping  or  awake, 
A  weaker  may  surprise,  a  stronger  take  ? 
His  safety  must  his  liberty  restrain:"" 
All  join  to  guard  what  each  desires  to  gain. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  209 

Forced  into  virtue  thus  by  self-defence, 
Even  kings  learned  justice  and  benevolence: 
Self-love  forsook  the  path  it  first  pursued, 
And  found  the  private  in  the  public  good. 

'Twas  then,  the  studious  head  or  generous  mind, 
Follower  of  God  or  friend  of  human  kind, 
POET  or  PATKIOT,  rose  but  to  restore 
The  faith  and  moral,  Nature  gave  before; 
Relumed  her  ancient  light,  not  kindled  new; 
If  not  God's  image,  yet  his  shadow  drew: 
Taught  power's  due  use  to  people  and  to  kings, 
Taught  nor  to  slack,  nor  strain  its  tender  strings, 
The  less,  or  greater,  set  so  justly  true, 
That  touching  one  must  strike  the  other  too ; 
Till  jarring  int'rests,  of  themselves  create 
The  according  music  of  a  weU-mixed  state. 
Such  is  the  world's  great  harmony  that  springs 
From  order,  union,  full  consent  of  things: 
Where   smaU  and  great,  where  weak  and  mighty 

made 

To  serve,  not  suffer,  strengthen,  not  invade; 
More  pow'rful  each  as  needful  to  the  rest! 
And,  in  proportion  as  it  blesses,  blest; 
Draw  to  one  point,  and  to  one  centre  bring 
Beast,  man,  .or  angel,  servant,  lord,  or  king. 

For  forms  of  government  let  fools  contest; 
Whate'er  is  best  administered  is  best: 
For  modes  of  faith  let  graceless  zealots  fight; 
His  can't  be  wrong  whose  life  is  in  the  right; 
In  Faith  and  Hope  the  world  will  disagree, 
But  all  mankind's  concern  is  Charity: 
All  must  be  false  that  thwart  this  one  great  end; 
And  aU  of  God,  that  bless  mankind  or  mend. 

Man,  like  the  gen'rous  vine,  supported  lives; 
The  strength  he  gains  is  from  the  embrace  he  gives. 
On  their  own  axis  as  the  planets  run, 
Yet  make  at  once  their  circle  round  the  sun*, 
So  two  consistent  motions  act  the  soul; 
And  one  regards  itself,  and  one  the  whole. 
Thus  God  and  Nature  linked  the  general  frame,  \ 
And  bade  Self-love  and  Social  be  the  same. 


210  AN  ESSAY  ON  HAN. 


AEGUMENT    OF   EPISTLE   IV. 

OF   THE    NATURE    AND    STATE    OF    MAN   WITH    RESPECT    TO 
HAPPINESS. 

I.  False  notions  of  happiness,  philosophical  and  popular,  answered 
from  ver.  19  to  27. — II.  It  is  the  end  of  all  men,  and  attainable  by 
all,  ver.  30.  God  intends  happiness  to  be  equal ;  and  to  be  so,  it 
must  be  social,  since  all  particular  happiness  depends  on  general, 
and  since  he  governs  by  general,  not  particular  laws,  ver.  37.  As 
it  is  necessary  for  order,  and  the  peace  and  welfare  of  society,  that 
external  good  should  be  unequal,  happiness  is  not  made  to  consist 
in  these,  ver.  51.  But,  notwithstanding  that  inequality,  the  balance 
of  happiness  among  mankind  is  kept  even  by  Providence,  by 
the  two  passions  of  hope  and  fear,  ver.  70. — III.  What  the  happi- 
ness of  individuals  is,  as  far  as  is  consistent  with  the  constitution 
of  this  world  ;  and  that  the  good  man  has  here  the  advantage,  ver. 
77.  The  error  of  imputing  to  virtue  what  are  only  the  calamities 
-^  of  nature,  or  of  fortune,  ver.  94. — IV.  The  folly  01  expecting  that 
^  God  should  alter  his  general  laws  in  favour  of  particulars,  ver.  121. 
— V.  That  we  are  not  judges  who  are  good;  but  that,  whoever 
they  are,  they  must  be  happiest,  ver.  133,  &c.— VI.  That  external 
goods  are  not  the  proper  rewards,  but  often  inconsistent  with,  or 
destructive  of  virtue,  ver.  165.  That  even  these  can  make  no  man 
happy  without  -virtue :  instanced  in  riches,  ver.  183.  Honours,  ver. 
191.  Nobility,  ver.  203.  Greatness,  ver.  215.  Fame,  ver.  235. 
Superior  talents,  ver.  257,  &c.  With  pictures  of  human  infelicity 
in  men  possessed  of  them  all,  ver.  267,  &c.— VII.  That  virtue  only 
constitutes  a  happiness,  whose  object  is  universal,  and  whose  pros- 
pect eternal,  ver.  307  &c.  That  the  perfection  of  virtue  and  happi- 
ness consists  in  a  conformity  to  the  order  of  Providence  here,  and  a 
resignation  to  it  here  and  hereafter,  v.  326,  &c. 

EPISTLE  IV. 

O  HAPPINESS  !  our  being's  end  and  aim !     — 
Good,  pleasure,  ease,  content,  whate'er  thy  name? 
That  something  still  which  prompts  the  eternal  sigh, 
^    For  which  we  bear  to  live,  or  dare  to  die, 
Which  still  so  near  us,  yet  beyond  us  lies, 
O'erlooked,  seen  double,  by  the  fool,  and  wise. 
Plant  of  celestial  seed !  if  dropt  below, 
Say,  in  what  mortal  soil  thou  deign'st  to  grow?  — 
Fair  op'ning  to  some  Court's  propitious  shine, 
Or  deep  with  diamonds  in  the  flaming  mine  ? 
Twined  with  the  wreaths  Parnassian  laurels  yield, 
Or  reaped  in  iron  harvests  of  the  field  ? 
Where  grows? — where  grows  it  not  ?  If  vain  our  toil, 
We  ought  to  blame  the  culture,  not  the  soil: 
Fixed  to  no  spot  is  happiness  sincere, 
'Tis  nowhere  to  be  found,  or  ev'ry where: 
'Tis  never  to  be  bought,  but  always  free, 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  211 

And  fled  from  monarclis,  St.  John !  dwells  with  thee. 

Ask  of  the  learned  the  way  ?  The  learned  are  blind ; 
This  bids  to  serve,  and  that  to  shun  mankind; 
Some  place  the  bliss  in  action,  some  in  ease, 
Those  call  it  pleasure,  and  contentment  these; 
Some  sunk  to  beasts,  find  pleasure  end  in  pain; 
Some  swelled  to  gods,  confess  e'en  virtue  vain; 
Or  indolent,  to  each  extreme  they  fall, 
To  trust  in  every  thing,  or  doubt  of  all.1 

Who  thus  define  it,  say  they  more  or  less 
Than  this,  that  happiness  is  happiness  ? 

Take  Nature's  path,  and  mad  opinion's  leave; 
AH  states  can  reach  it,  and  all  heads  conceive; 
Obvious  her  goods,  in  no  extreme  they  dwell; 
There  needs  but  thinking  right,  and  meaning  well; 
And  mourn  our  various  portions  as  we  please, 
Equal  is  common  sense,  and  common  ease. 

Eemember,  man,  "  the  Universal  Cause 
Acts  not  by  partial,  but  by  general  laws;" 
And  makes  what  happiness  we  justly  call 
Subsist  not  in  the  good  of  one,  but  all 
There's  not  a  blessing  individuals  find, 
But  some  way  leans  and  hearkens  to  the  kind: 
No  bandit  fierce,  no  tyrant  mad  with  pride, 
No  cavern  hermit,  rests  self-satisfied: 
Who  most  to  shun  or  hate  mankind  pretend, 
Seek  an  admirer,  or  ^who  would  fix  a  friend: 
Abstract  what  others  feel,  what  others  think, 
All  pleasures  sicken,  and  all  glories  sink: 
Each  has  its  share;  and  who  would  more  obtain. 
Shall  find,  the  pleasure  pays  not  half  the  pain. 

Order  is  heaven's  first  law;  and  this  confest, ' 

Some  are,  and  must  be,  greater  than  the  rest, 

More  rich,  more  wise;  but  who  infers  from  hence  — 

That  such  are  happier,  shocks  all  common  sense.— 

Heav'n  to  mankind  impartial  we  confess,  , 

If  all  are  equal  in  their  happiness: 

But  mutual  wants  this  happiness  increase; 

All  Nature's  difference  keeps  all  Nature's  peace. 

Condition,  circumstance  is  not  the  thing; 
Bliss  is  the  same  in  subject  or  in  king, 
In  who  obtain  defence,  or  who  defend, 
In  him  who  is,  or  him  who  finds  a  friend: 

1  Skeptics.— Pope. 


212  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

Heav'n  breathes  through  ev'ry  member  of  the  whole 

One  common  blessing,  as  one  common  soul 

But  fortune's  gifts  if  each  alike  possest, 

And  each  were  equal,  must  not  all  contest  ? 

If  then  to  all  men  happiness  was  meant, 

God  in  externals  could  not  place  content. 

Fortune  her  gifts  may  variously  dispose, 
And  these  be  happy  called,  unhappy  those; 
I    But  Heav'n's  just  balance  equal  will  appear, 
t    While  those  are  placed  in  hope,  and  these  in  fear: 
Not  present  good  or  ill,  the  joy  or  curse, 
But  future  views  of  better,  or  of  worse. 
Oh,  sons  of  earth !  attempt  ye  still  to  rise, 
By  mountains  piled  on  mountains,  to  the  skies  ? 
Heav'n  still  with  laughter  the  vain  toil  surveys, 
And  buries  madmen  in  the  heaps  they  raise. 

Know,  all  the  good  that  individuals  find, 
Or  God  and  nature  meant  to  mere  mankind, 
Reason's  whole  pleasure,  all  the  joys  of  sense, 
^  Lie  in  three  words,  health^  peace  and  competence.  — 
But  health  consists  with  temperance  alone; 
And  peace,  oh  Virtue  !  peace  is  all  thy  own. 
The  good  or  bad  the  gifts  of  fortune  gain  ; 
But  these  less  taste  them,  as  they  worse  obtain. 
Say,  in  pursuit  of  profit  or  delight, 
Who  risk  the  most,  that  take  wrong  means,  or  right? 
Of  vice  or  virtue,  whether  blest  or  curst, 
"Which  meets  contempt,  or  which  compassion  first  ? 
Count-all  the  advantage  prosperous  vice  attains, 
5Tis  but  what  virtue  fiies  from  and  disdains: 
And  grant  the  bad  what  happiness  they  would, 
One  they  must  want,  which  is,  to  pass  for  good. 

Oh,  blind  to  truth,  and  God's  whole  scheme  below, 
WTho  fancy  bliss  to  vice,  to  virtue  woe ! 
Who  sees  and  follows  that  great  scheme  the  best, 
Best  knows  the  blessing,  and  will  most  be  blest. 
But  fools  the  good  alone  unhappy  call, 
For  ills  or  accidents  that  chance  to  all 
See,  Falkland  dies,  the  virtuous  and  the  just !  * 
See  god-like  Turenne  prostrate  on  the  dust  ? 2 

1  The  genius  and  patriotism  of  Lucius  Gary,  Lord  Falkland,  aro 
immortalised  by  both  Clarendon  and  Cowley.    He  fell  fighting  on  the 
royal  side  at  the  battle  of  Newbury,  1643. 

2  Turenne,  the  famous  French  general  and  marshal,  was  second 
ecn  of  thei^uc  do  Bouillon,  and  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  William  I.  of 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  213 

See  Sidney  bleeds  amid  the  martial  strife !  * 
Was  this  their  virtue,  or  contempt  of  life  ? 
Say,  was  it  virtue,  more  though  Heaven  ne'r  gave, 
Lamented  Digby ! 2  sunk  thee  to  the  grave  ? 
Tell  me,  if  virtue  made  the  son  expire, 
Why,  full  of  days,  and  honour,  lives  the  sire  ? 
Why  drew  Marseilles'  good  bishop  purer  breath,3 
When  nature  sickened,  and  each  gale  was  death  ? 
Or  why  so  long  (in  life  if  long  can  be) 
Lent  Heaven  a  parent  to  the  poor  and  me  ? 4 

What  makes  all  physical  or  moral  ill  ? 
There  deviates  Nature,  and  there  wanders  Will. 
God  sends  not  ill;  if  rightly  understood,  1 
Or  partial  ill  is  universal  good, 
Or  change  admits,  or  nature  lets  it  fall;      J 
Short,  and  but  rare,  till  Man  improved  it  all. 
We  just  as  wisely  might  of  Heaven  complain 
That  righteous  Abel  was  destroyed  by  Cain, 
As  that  the  virtuous  son  is  ill  at  ease 
When  his  lewd  father  gave  the  dire  disease. 
Think  we,  like  some  weak  prince,  the  Eternal  Cause 
Prone  for  his  fav'rites  to  reverse  his  laws? 

Shall  burning  .ZEtna,  if  a  sage5  requires, 
Forget  to  thund  er,  and  recall  her  fires  ? 
On  air  or  sea  new  motions  be  imprest, 
Oh,  blameless  Bethel ! 6  to  relieve  thy  breast  ? 

Nassau,  Prince  of  Orange.  He  was  killed  by  a  cannon  ball  at  Sass- 
bach  in  1675,  his  soldiers  crying  out,  "Our  father  is  dead,"  when  the 
fatal  result  of  the  shot  was  perceived. 

1  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  one  of  our  greatest  countrymen,  was  shot  at 
Zutphen,  1586,  and  died  a  few  days  afterwards.     His  unselfish  gift 
of  the  cup  of  cold  water  to   the  dying  soldier,  when  wounded  and 
thirsting  himself,  will  never  be  forgotten. 

2  The  Honourable  Robert  Digby,  who  died  1724.      See  in  "  Epi- 
taphs," one  on  himself  and  his  sister. 

3  M.  de  Belsance  was  made  bishop  of  Marseilles  in  1709.     In  the 
plague  of  that  city,  in  the  year  1720,  he  distinguished  himself  by  his 
zeal  and  activity,  being  the    pastor,  the  physician,  and  the  magis- 
trate of  his  flock,  whilst    that  horrid  calamity  prevailed.—  War  ton. 
Louis  XV.,  in  1723,  offered  him   a  more  considerable  bishopric,  to 
Which  great  feudal  privileges  belonged,  but  he  refused  to  leave  the 
flock  endeared  to  him  by  suffering.    He  lived  to  a  great  age,  and 
died  in  1755. 

4  Edith  Pope,  the  mother  of  the  poet,  died  at  the  age  of  91  or  92, 
the  year  this  poem  was  finished,.1733    The  filial  piety  of  Pope  was  re- 
markable. 

5  Alluding  to  the  fate  of  those  two  great  naturalists,   Empedocles 
And  PI  my,  who  both  perished  by  too  near  an  approach  to  Etna  and 
Vesuvius,  while  they  were  exploring  the  cause  of  the  eruptions. — 
Warburton. 

G  Mr.  Bethel  was  a  friend  of  Pope's.    The  poet  alluded  to  this  line 


214  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

"When  the  loose  mountain  trembles  from  on  high, 

Shall  gravitation  cease,  if  you  go  by  ? 

Or  some  old  temple,  nodding  to  its  fall, 

For  Chartres' 1  head  reserve  the  hanging  wall  ? 
But  still  this  world  (so  fitted  for  the  knave) 

Contents  us  not.     A  better  shall  we  have  ? 

A  kingdom  of  the  just  then  let  it  be: 

But  first  consider  how  those  just  agree. 

The  good  must  merit  God's  peculiar  care; 

But  who,  but  God,  can  tell  us  who  they  are  ? 

One  thinks  on  Calvin  Heav'n's  own  spirit  fell; 

Another  deems  him  instrument  of  hell; 

If  Calvin  feel  Heaven's  blessing,  or  its  rod, 

This  cries  there  is,  and  that,  there  is  no  God. 

What  shocks  one  part  will  edify  the  rest, 
^  Nor  with  one  system  can  the/  all  be  blest. 

The  very  best  will  variously  incline, 

And  what  rewards  your  virtue,  punish  mine, 
v'  Whatever  is,  is  right. — This  world,  'tis  true, 

Was  made  for  Csesar — but  for  Titus  too : 

And  which  more  blest?  who  chained  his  country, 
say, 

Or  he2  whose  virtue  sighed  to  lose  a  day  ? 

"  But  sometimes  virtue  starves,  while  vice  is  fed.5' 

What  then  ?     Is  the  reward  of  virtue  bread  ? 

That,  vice  may  merit,  'tis  the  price  of  toil; 

The  knave  deserves  it,  when  he  tills  the  soil, 

The  knave  deserves  it,  when  he  tempts  the  main, 

Where  folly  fights  for  kings,  or  dives  for  gain. 

The  good  man  may  be  weak,  be  indolent; 

Nor  is  his  claim  to  plenty,  but  content. 

But  grant  him  riches,  your  demand  is  o'er  ? 

"No — shall  the  good  want  health,  the  good  want 
power  ?" 

Add  health,  and  power,  and  every  earthly  thing, 

"Why  bounded  power?  why  private?  why  no  king?" 

in  a  letter  he  wrote  to  a  friend  soon  after  old  Mrs.  Pope's  death :  "  I 
have  now  too  much  melancholy  leisure,  and  no  other  care  but  to 
finish  my  '  Essay  on  Man.'  There  will  bo  iu  it  but  one  line  that  will 
offend  you  (I  fear),  and  yet  I  will  not  alter  it  or  omit  it,  unless  you 
come  to  town  and  prevent  it.  It  is  all  a  poor  poet  can  do  to  bear 
testimony  to  the  virtue  he  cannot  reach." 

1  F.  Chartres  was  a  man  of  infamous  character,  who  died  731.    See 
notes  to  "Essay  on  the  use  of  Riches. " 

2  Titus,  who  exclaimed  one  evening,  on  recollecting  that  he  had 
done  no  good  to  any  especial  person,    "  My  friends,  I  have  lost  a 
day  I" 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  215 

Nay,  why  external  for  internal  giv'n? 
Why  is  not  man  a  god,  and  earth  a  heav'n? 
Who  ask  and  reason  thus,  will  scarce  conceive 
God  gives  enough,  while  He  has  more  to  give: 
Immense  the  power,  immense  were  the  demand; 
Say,  at  what  part  of  nature  will  they  stand  ? 

What  nothing  earthly  gives,  or  can  destroy, 
The  soul's  calm  sunshine,  and  the  heart-felt  joy, 
Is  virtue's  prize.     A  better  would  you  fix  ? 
Then  give  humility  a  coach  and  six, 
Justice  a  conqueror's  sword,  or  truth  a  gown, 
Or  public  spirit  its  great  cure,  a  crown. 
Weak,  foolish  man !  will  Heav'n  reward  us  there 
With  the  same  trash  mad  mortals  wish  for  here  ? 
The  boy  and  man  an  individual  makes, 
Yet  sighest  thou  now- for  apples  and  for  cakes? 
Go,  like  the  Indian,  in  another  life 
Expect  thy  dog,  thy  bottle,  and  thy  wife, 
As  well  as  dream  such  trifles  are  assigned, 
As  toys  and  empires,  for  a  god-like  mind. 
Rewards,  that  either  would  to  virtue  bring 
No  joy,  or  be  destructive  of  the  thing: 
How  oft  by  these  at  sixty  are  undone 
The  virtues  of  a  saint  at  twenty-one ! 

To  whom  can  riches  give  repute,  or  trust, 
Content,  or  pleasure,  but  the  good  and  just  ? 
Judges  and  Senates  have  been  bought  for  gold, 
Esteem  and  love  were  never  to  be  sold. 
O  fool !  to  think  God  hates  the  worthy  mind, 
The  lover  and  the  love  of  human-kind, 
Whose  life  is  healthful,  and  whose  conscience  clear, 
Because  he  wants  a  thousand  pounds  a  year. 

Honour  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise; 
Act  well  your  part,  there  all  the  honour  lies. 
Fortune  in  men  has  some  small  diff 'rence  macle, 
One  flaunts  in  rags,  one  flutters  in  brocade; 
The  cobbler  aproned,  and  the  parson  gowned, 
The  friar  hooded,  and  the  monarch  crowned. 
"  What  differ  more  (you  cry)  than  crown  and  cowl  ?" 
I'll  tell  you,  friend;  a  wise  man  and  a  fool. 
You'll  find,  if  once  the  monarch  acts  the  monk, 
Or,  cobbler-like,  the  parson  will  be  drunk, 
Worth  makes  the  man,  and  want  of  it,  the  fellow; 
The  rest  is  all  but  leather  or  prunella. 


21G  AN  ESS  A  Y  ON  MAN. 

Stuck  o'er  with  titles  and  hung  round  with  strings, 

That  thou  mayest  be  by  kings,  or  w of  kings. 

Boast  the  pure  blood  of  an  illustrious  race, 

In  quiet  flow  from  Lucrece  to  Lucrece; 

But  by  your  fathers'  worth  if  yours  you  rate, 

Count  me  those  only  who  were  good  and  great. 

Go !  if  your  ancient,  but  ignoble  blood 

Has  crept  through  scoundrels  ever  since  the  flood, 

Go !  and  pretend  your  family  is  young; 

Nor  own,  your  fathers  have  been  fools  so  long. 

What  can  ennoble  sots,  or  slaves,  or  cowards  ? 

Alas !  not  all  the  blood  of  all  the  Howards. 

Look  next  on  greatness;  say  where  greatness  lies? 
"  Where,  but  among  the  heroes  and  the  wise  ?" 
Heroes  are  much  the  same,  the  point's  agreed, 
From  Macedonia's  madman1  to  the  Swede;2 
The  whole  strange  purpose  of  their  lives  to  find 
Or  make,  an  enemy  of  all  mankind  ? 
Not  one  looks  backward,  onward  still  he  goes, 
Yet  ne'er  looks  forward  farther  than  his  nose. 
No  less  alike  the  politic  and  wise; 
Ah1  sly  slow  things,  with  circumspective  eyes: 
Men  in  their  loose  unguarded  hours  they  take, 
Not  that  themselves  are  wise,  but  others  weak. 
But  grant  that  those  can  conquer,  these  can  cheat; 
'Tis  phrase  absurd  to  call  a  villain  great: 
Who  wickedly  is  wise,  or  madly  brave, 
Is  but  the  more  a  fool,  the  more  a  knave. 
Who  noble  ends  by  noble  means  obtains, 
Or  failing,  smiles  in  exile  or  in  chains, 
Like  good  Aurelius  let  him  reign3  or  bleed 
Like  Socrates,4  that  man  is  great  indeed. 

What's  fame  ?  a  fancied  life  in  other's  breath, 
A  thing  beyond  us,  even  before  our  death. 
Just  what  you  hear,  you  have,  and  what's  unknown 
The  same  (my  Lord)  if  Tully's,  or  your  own, 
All  that  we  feel  of  it  begins  and  ends 
In  the  small  circle  of  our  foes  or  friends; 

1  Alexander  the  Great. 

2  Charles  XII.  of  Sweden. 

3  Marcus  Aurelius,  Emperor  of  Rome,  practised  th«  stern  virtues 
of  the  Stoic  philosophy.    He  was  born  A.  D.  121,  and  died  180. 

4  As  Socrates  died  by  drinking  hemlock  in  obedience  to  his  sentence, 
Warton  thinks  the  word  "bleed  "here  improper  y  used.    But,  of 
course,  it  is  employed  only  metaphorically. 


AN  ESSA  Y  ON  MAN. .  217 

To  all  beside  as  much  an  empty  shade 

An  Eugene  living,1  as  a  Caesar  dead; 

Alike  or  when,  or  where,  they  shone  or  shine, 

Or  on  the  Kubicon,  or  on  the  Khine. 

A  wit's  a  feather,  and  a  chief  a  rod;  _ 

honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God* — •—    """ 
Fame  but  from  death  a  villain's  name  can  save, 
As  Justice  tears  his  body  from  the  grave; 
When  what  t'  oblivion  better  were  resigned, 
Is  hung  on  high  to  poison  half  mankind. 
All  fame  is  foreign,  but  of  time  desert; 
Plays  round  the  head,  but  comes  not  to  the  heart: 
One  self-approving  hour  whole  years  out-weighs 
Of  stupid  starers,  and  loud  huzzas; 
And  more  true  joy  Marcellus  exiled  feels,2 
Than  Caesar  with  a  senate  at  his  heels. 

In  parts  superior  what  advantage  lies  ? 
Tell  (for  you  can)  what  is  it  to  be  wise  ? 
"Tis  but  to  know  how  little  can  be  known; 
To  see  all  others'  faults,  and  feel  your  own; 
Condemned  in  business  or  in  arts  to  drudge, 
Without  a  second,  or  without  a  judge: 
Truths  would  you  teach,  or  save  a  sinking  land? 
All  fear,  none  aid  you,  and  few  understand. 
Painful  pre-eminence !  yourself  to  view 
Above  life's  weakness,  and  its  comforts  too. 

Bring  then  these  blessings  to  a  strict  account; 
Make  fair  deductions;  see  to  what  they  mount: 
How  much  of  other  each  is  sure  to  cost; 
How  each  for  other  oft  is  wholly  lost; 
How  inconsistent  greater  goods  with  these; 
How  sometimes  life  is  risked,  and  always  ease: 
Think,  and  if  still  the  things  thy  envy  call, 
Say,  wouldst  thou  be  the  man  to  whom  they  fall  ? 
To  sigh  for  ribands  if  thou  art  so  silly, 
Mark  how  they  grace  Lord  Umbra,  or  Sir  Billy: 

1  Prince  Eugene  of  Savoy  was  still  living  when  this  poem  was 
written.    Associated  with  Marlborough,  he  fought  at  Blenheim  and 
Malplaquet.    He  was  born  1663,  and  died  1736.    Napoleon  ranked 
him  as  a  general  with  Turenne  and  Frederick  the  Great. 

2  Marcellus  was  an  enemy  of  Julius  Caesar,  and  after  the  battle  of 
Pharsalia  fled  to  Mitylene.    Caesar  pardoned  him,  but  on  his  way 
back  to  Rome,  he  was  assassinated  by  his  attendant,  Magius,  at 
Athens.    "  By  Marcellus,  Pope  is  thought  to  have  meant  the  Duke 
of  Ormond."—  Warton.    Ormond  had  fled  from  England  on  t 

Ql  (^ueen  Anne,  to  join  the  Pretender. 


218  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

Is  yellow  dirt  the  passion  of  thy  life ! 

Look  but  on  Gripus,  or  on  Gripus'  wife: 

If  parts  allure  thee,  think  how  Bacon  shined,1 

The  wisest,  brightest,  meanest  of  mankind: 

Or  ravished  with  the  whistling  of  a  name, 

See  Cromwell,  damned  to  everlasting  fame ! 

If  all,  united,  thy  ambition  call, 

From  ancient  story  learn  to  scorn  them  all. 

There,  in  the  rich,  the  honoured,  famed,  and  great. 

See  the  false  scale  of  happiness  complete ! 

In  hearts  of  kings,  or  arms  of  queens  who  lay, 

How  happy !  those  to  ruin,  these  betray. 

Mark  by  what  wretched  rtops  their  glory  grows, 

From  dirt  and  sea- weed  as  proud  Venice  rose; 

In  each  how  guilt  and  greatness  equal  ran, 

And  all  that  raised  the  hero,  sunk  the  man: 

Now  Europe's  laurels  on  their  brows  behold, 

But  stained  with  blood,  or  ill-exchanged  for  gold: 

Then  see  them  broke  with  toils,  or  sunk  in  ease, 

Or  infamous  for  plundered  provinces. 

Oh,  wealth  ill-fated !  which  no  act  of  fame 

E'er  taught  to  shine,  or  sanctified  from  shame; 

What  greater  bliss  attends  their  close  of  life  ? 

Some  greedy  minion,  or  imperious  wife,2 

The  trophied  arches,  storied  halls  invade 

And  haunt  their  slumbers  in  the  pompous  shade. 

Alas !  not  dazzled  with  their  noontide  ray, 

Compute  the  morn  and  evening  to  the  day; 

The  whole  amount  of  that  enormous  fame, 

A  tale,  that  blends  their  glory  with  their  shame ! 

Know  then  this  truth  (enough  for  man  to  know) 
"Yirtue  alone  is  happines  below." 
The  only  point  where  human  bliss  stands  still, 
And  tastes  the  good  without  the  fall  to  ill; 
Where  only  merit  constant  pay  receives, 
Is  blest  in  what  it  takes,  and  what  it  gives; 

1  Lord  Bacon  discovered  the  true  principles  of  Experimental  Sci- 
ence, and  was  distinguished  by  his  great  talents  in  all  subjects  but 
lie  was  condemned  for  (and  confessed)  bribery  and  corruption  in  the 
administration  of  justice  while  presiding  in  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Equity ;  nd  his  flattery  of  the  king,  James  I.,  and  his  favorite,  Buck- 
ingham, was  disgraceful. 

2  He  alludes  to  the  great  Duke  of  Marlborough.—  Warton.  rHe  loved 
money,  but  his  military  career  was  free  from  reproach,  and  he  did 
not  "plunder"  beyond  the  allowed  usages  of  war.    The  "imperi- 
ous wife"  hints  at  the  terrible  temper  of  Sarah,  Duchess  of  Marl* 
borough, 


AN  ESS  A  Y  ON  MAN.  219 

The  joy  unequalled,  if  its  end  it  gain, 

And  if  it  lose,  attended  with  no  pain: 

Without  satiety,  though  e'er  so  "blessed, 

And  but  more  relished  as  the  more  distressed: 

The  broadest  mirth  unfeeling  folly  wears, 

Less  pleasing  far  than  virtue's  very  tears: 

Good,  from  each  object,  from  each  place  acquired, 

For  ever  exercised,  yet  never  tired; 

Never  elated,  while  one  man's  oppressed; 

Never  dejected,  while  another's  blessed; 

And  where  no  wants,  no  wishes  can  remain, 

Since  but  to  wish  more  virtue,  is  to  gain. 

See  the  sole  bliss  Heav'n  could  on  all  bestow ! 
"Which  who   but  feels  could  taste,  but  thinks  can 

know: 

Yet  poor  with  fortune,  and  with  learning  blind, 
The  bad  must  miss;  the  good,  untaught,  will  find; 
Slave  to  no  sect,  who  takes  no  private  road, 
But  looks  through  nature  up  to  nature's  God; 
Pursues  that  chain  which  links  the  immense  design, 
Joins  heav'n  and  earth,  and  mortal  and  divine; 
Sees,  that  no  being  any  bliss  can  know, 
But  touches  some  above,  and  some  below: 
Learns,  from  this  union  of  the  rising  whole, 
The  first,  last  purpose  of  the  human  soul; 
And  knows,  where  faith,  law,  morals,  all  began, 
All  end,  in  love  of  God,  and  love  of  man. 

For  him  alone,  hope  leads  from  goal  to  goal, 
And  opens  still,  and  opens  on  his  soul; 
Till  lengthened  on  to  FAITH  and  unconfined, 
It  pours  the  bliss  that  fills  up  all  the  mind. 
He  sees,  why  Nature  plants  in  man  alone 
Hope  of  known  bliss,  and  faith  in  bliss  unknown:  — " 
(Nature,  whose  dictates  to  no  other  kind 
Are  given  in  vain,  but  what  they  seek  they  find) 
Wise  in  her  present;  she  connects  in  this 
His  greatest  virtue  with  his  greatest  bliss; 
At  once  his  own  bright  prospect  to  be  blest, 
And  strongest  motive  to  assist  the  rest. 

Self-love  thus  pushed  to  social,  to  divine, 
Gives  thee  to  make  thy  neighbour's  blessing  thine. 
Is  this  too  little  for  the  boundless  heart '? 
Extend  it,  let  thy  enemies  have  part: 
Grasp  the  whole  worlds  of  reason,  life,  and  sense, 


220  AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

In  one  close  system  of  benevolence: 
Happier  as  kinder,  in  whate'er  degree, 
And  height  of  Bliss  but  height  of  Charity. 

God  loves  from  whole  to  parts:  but  human  soul 
Must  rise  from  individual  to  the  whole. 
Self-love  but  serves  the  virtuous  mind  to  wake. 
As  the  small  pebble  stirs  the  peaceful  lake; 
The  centre  moved,  a  circle  straight  succeeds, 
Another  still,  and  still  another  spreads; 
Friend,  parent,  neighbour,  first  it  will  embrace; 
His  country  next;  and  next  all  human  race; 
Wide  and  more  wide,  the  o'erflowings  of  the  mind 
Take  ev'ry  creature  in,  of  ev'ry  kind; 
Earth  smiles  around,  with  boundless  bounty  blest, 
And  heav'n  beholds  its  image  in  his  breast. 

Come,  then  my  Friend !  my  genius !  come  along; 
Oh,  master  of  the  poet,  and  the  song ! 
And  while  the  muse  now  stoops,  or  now  ascends, 
To  man's  low  passions,  or  their  glorious  ends 
Teach  me,  like  thee,  in  various  nature  wise, 
To  fall  with  dignity,  with  temper  rise; 
Formed  by  thy  converse,  happily  to  steer 
From  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe; 
Correct  with  spirit,  eloquent  with  ease, 
Intent  to  reason,  cr  polite  to  please. 
Oh !  while  alone  the  stream  of  time  thy  name 
Expanded  flies,  and  gathers  all  its  fame, 
Say,  shall  my  little  bark  attendant  sail, 
Pursue  the  triumph,  and  partake  the  gale  ? 
When  statesmen,  heroes,  kings,  in  dust  repose, 
Wliose  sons  shall  blush  their  fathers  were  thy  foes, 
Shall  then  this  verse  to  future  age  pretend 
Thou  wert  my  guide,  philosopher  and  friend  ? 
That  urged  by  thee,  I  turned  the  tuneful  art 
From  sounds  to  things,  from  fancy  to  the  heart; 
For  wit's  false  mirror  held  up  nature's  light, 
Showed  erring  pride,  WHATEVEK  is,  is  EIGHT; 
That  reason,  passion,  answer  one  great  aim; 
jThat  true  self-love  and  social  are  the  same; 
That  virtue  only  makes  our  bliss  below; 
And  aH  our  knowledge  is  ourselves  to  loiow. 


I 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 


THE  UNIVERSAL  PRAYER.1 
•ft 

DEO.    OPT.    MAX. 

FATHER  of  all !  in  ev'ry  age, 

In  ev'ry  clime  adored, 
By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 

Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord ! 

*-•  Thou  Great  First  Cause,  least  undersood: 

Who  all  my  sense  confined 
To  know  but  this,  that  Thou  art  good, 
And  that  myself  am  blind; 

Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate, 

To  see  the  good  from  ill; 
And  binding  Nature  fast  in  Fate, 
^     Left  free  the  human  will. 

What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done, 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do, 
This,  teach  me  more  than  hell  to  shun, 

That,  more  than  heav'n  pursue. 

What  blessings  Thy  free  bounty  gives, 

Let  me  not  cast  away; 
For  God  is  paid  when  man  receives: 

To  enjoy  is  to  obey.  » 

Yet  not  to  earth's  contracted  span 

Thy  goodness  led  me  bound, 
1     Or  think  Thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 
When  thousand  worlds  are  round. 

Let  not  this  weak  unknowing  hand 

Presume  thy  bolts  to  throw, 
And  deal  damnation  round  the  land, 

On  each  I  judge  Thy  foe. 

1  Some  passages  in  the  "  Essay  on  Man  "  having  been  unjustly  sus- 
pected of  a  tendency  towards  Fate  and  Naturalism,  the  author  com- 
posed a  prayer  as  the  sum  of  all,  which  was  intended  to  show  that 
his  system  was  founded  in  Free-will  and  terminated  in  Piety.-- 
Rujfliead. 


222  AN  ESS  A  Y  ON  MAN. 

If  I  am  right,  Thy  grace  impart, 

Still  in  the  right  to  stay; 
If  I  am  wrong,  oh,  teach  my  heart 

To  find  that  better  way. 

Save  me  alike  from  foolish  pride,   . 

Or  impious  discontent, 
At  aught  Thy  wisdom  has  denied, 

Or  aught  Thy  goodness  lent. 

Teach  me  to  feel  another's  woe, 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see; 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 

*/  Mean  though  I  am,  not  wholly  so, 
Since  quickened  by  thy  breath; 
Oh,  lead  me  wheresoe'er  I  go, 
Through  this  day's  life  or  death. 

This  day,  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot: 
All  else  beneath  the  sun, 

Thou  know'st  if  best  bestowed  or  not 
And  let  Thy  will  be  done. 

To  Thee,  whose  temple  is  all  space., 
Whose  altar,  earth,  sea,  ski6s, 

One  chorus  let  all  being  raise; 
All  nature's  incense  rise  1 


MORAL   ESSAYS. 

IN  FIVE  EPISTLES  TO  SEVERAL  PERSONS. 

Est  brevitate  opus,  ut  currat  sententia,  neu  se 
Impediat  verbis  lassis  onerantibus  aures : 
Et  sermone  opus  est  modo  tristi,  ssepe  jocoso, 
Defendente  vicem  modo  rhetoris  atque  poetaB, 
Interdum  urbani,  parcentis  viribus,  atquo 
Extenuautis  eas  consulto.— HOB. 

EPISTLE  L 

1733. 

TO  SIR  EICHAED  TEMPLE,  LOKD  COBHAM. 
ARGUMENT. 

OF  THE  KNOWLEDGE  AND   CHARACTERS   OF  MEH. 

That  it  is  not  sufficient  for  this  knowledge  to  consider  man  in  the 
abstract:  books  will  not  serve  the  purpose,  nor  yet  our  own  exper- 
ience singly,  ver.  1.  General  maxims,  unless  they  be  formed  upon 
both,  will  be  but  notional,  ver.  10.  Some  peculiarity  in  every  man, 
characteristic  to  himself,  yet  varying  from  himself,  ver.  15.  Diffi- 
culties arising  from  our  own  passions,  fancies,  faculties,  &c.,  ver. 
31.  The  shortness  of  life,  to  observe  in,  and  the  uncertainty  of  the 
principles  of  action  in  men,  to  observe  by,  ver.  37,  &c.  Our  own 
principle  of  action  often  hid  from  ourselves,  ver.  41.  Some  few 
characters  plain,  but  in  general  confounded,  dissembled,  or  incon- 
sistent, ver.  51.  The  same  man  utterly  different  in  different  places 
and  seasons,  ver.  71.  Unimaginable  weakness  in  the  greatest,  ver, 
77,  &c.  Nothing  constant  and  certain  but  God  and  Nature,  ver.  95. 
No  judging  of  the  motives  from  the  actions;  the  same  actions  pro- 
ceeding from  contrary  motives,  and  the  same  motives  influencing 
contrary  actions,  ver.  100.— II.  Yet  to  form  characters,  we  can  only 
take  the  strongest  actions  of  a  man's  life,  and  try  to  make  them 
agree.  The  utter  uncertainty  of  this,  from  nature  itself,  and  from 
policy,  ver.  120.  Characters  given  according  to  the  rank  of  men  of 
the  world,  ver.  135.  And  some  reason  for  it,  ver.  141.  Education 
alters  the  nature,  or  at  least  character  of  many,  ver,  149.  Actions, 
passicns.  opinions,  manners,  humours,  or  principles,  a'il  subject  to 
change.  No  judging  by  nature,  from  ver.  158  to  178. — III.  It  only 
remains  to  find  (if  we  can)  his  ruling  passion  :  that  v/ill  certainly 
influence  all  the  rest,  and  can  reconcile  the  seeming  or  real  incon- 
sistency of  all  his  actions,  ver.  175.  Instanced  in  the  extraordinary 
character  of  Clodio,  ver.  179.  A  caution  against  mistaking  second 
qualities  for  first,  which  will  destroy  all  possibility  of  the  knowl- 
edge of  mankind,  ver.  210.  Examples  of  the  strength  of  the  ruling 
passion,  and  its  continuation  to  the  last  breath,  ver.  222,  &c. 

YES,  you  despise  the  man  to  books  confined, 

Who  from  his  study  rails  at  human  kind; 

Though  what  he  learnshe  speaks,  and  may  advance 


224  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

Some  gen'ral  maxims,  or  be  right  by  chance. 

The  coxcomb  bird,  so  talkative  and  grave,1     [knave, 

That  from  his  cage   cries  cuckold,  w ,  and 

Though  many  a  passenger  he  rightly  call, 
You  hold  him  no  philosopher  at  all. 

And  yet  the  fate  of  all  extremes  is  such, 
Men  may  be  read  as  well  as  books,  too  much. 
To  observations  which  ourselves  we  make, 
We  grow  more  partial  for  the  observer's  sake; 
To  written  wisdom,  as  another's,  less: 
Maxims  are  drawn  from  notions,  those  from  guess. 
There's  some  peculiar  in  each  leaf  and  grain, 
Some  unmarked  fibre,  or  some  varying  vein: 
Shall  only  man  be  taken  in  the  gross  ? 
Grant  but  as  many  sorts  of  mind  as  moss. 

That  each  from  other  differs,  first  confess; 
Next,  that  he  varies  from  himself  no  less: 
Add  nature's,  custom's,  reason's,  passion's  strife, 
And  ah1  opinion's  colours  cast  on  life. 

Our  depths,  who  fathoms,  or  our  shallows  finds, 
Quick  whirls,  and  shifting  eddies,  of  our  minds  ? 
On  human  actions  reason  though  you  can, 
It  may  be  reason,  but  it  is  not  man: 
His  principle  of  action  once  explore, 
That  instant  'tis  his  principle  no  more. 
Like  following  life  through  creatures  you  dissect, 
You  lose  it  in  the  moment  you  detect. 

Yet  more;  the  diff'rence  is  as  great  between 
The  optics  seeing,  as  the  object  seen. 
AIL  manners  take  a  tincture  from  our  own; 
Or  come  discoloured  through  our  passions  shown. 
Or  fancy's  beam  enlarges,  multiplies, 
Contracts,  inverts,  and  gives  ten  thousand  dyes. 

Nor  will  life's  stream  for  observation  stay, 
It  hurries  all  too  fast  to  mark  their  way: 
In  vain  sedate  reflections  we  would  make, 
When  half  our  knowledge  we  must  snatch,  not  take. 
Oft,  in  the  passions'  wild  rotation  tost, 
Our  spring  of  action  to  ourselves  is  lost; 
Tired,  not  determined,  to  the  last  we  yield, 


1  An  allusion  to  what  Pbilostrattis  said  of  Euxenus.  the  tutor  of 
Apollonius,  that  he  could  only  repeat  some  sentences  of  Pythagoras, 
like  those  coxcomb  birds,  who  were  taught  their  eu  Trpdrre  and  their 
Zeus  iAew?,  but  knew  not  what  they  signified.—  Warburton, 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  225 

And  what  comes  then  is  master  of  the  field. 
As  the  last  image  of  that  troubled  heap, 
"When  sense  subsides,  and  fancy  sports  in  sleep, 
(Though  passed  the  recollection  of  the  thought,) 
Becomes  the  stuff  of  which  our  dream  is  wrought: 
Something  as  dim  to  our  internal  view, 
Is  thus,  perhaps,  the  cause  of  most  we  do. 

True,  some  are  open,  and  to  all  men  known; 
Others  so  very  close,  they're  hid  from  none: 
(So  darkness  strikes  the  sense  no  less  than  light) 
Thus  gracious  Chandos1  is  beloved  at  sight; 
And  every  child  hates  Shylock,  though  his  soul 
Still  sits  at  squat,  and  peeps  not  from  its  hole. 
At  half  mankind  when  generous  Manly  raves,3 
All  know  'tis  virtue,  for  he  thinks  them  knaves: 
When  universal  homage,  Umbra  pays,3 
All  see  'tis  vice,  and  itch  of  vulgar  praise. 
Wlien  flattery  glares,  all  hate  it  in  a  queen,4 
While  one  there  is  who  charms  us  with  his  spleen.5 

But  these  plain  characters  we  rarely  find: 
Though  strong  the  bent,  yet  quick  the  turns  of  mind; 
Or  puzzling  contraries  confound  the  whole; 
Or  affectations  quite  reverse  the  soul. 
The  dull,  flat  falsehood  serves  for  policy; 
And  in  the  cunning,  truth  itself 's  a  lie; 
Unthought-of  frailties  cheat  us  in  the  wise; 
The  fool  lies  hid  in  inconsistencies. 

See  the  same  man,  in  vigour,  in  the  gout; 
Alone,  in  company;  in  place  or  out; 
Early  at  business,  and  at  hazard  late; 
Mad  at  a  fox-chase,  wise  at  a  debate; 
Drunk  at  a  borough,  civil  at  a  ball; 
Friendly  at  Hackney,  faithless  at  Whitehall. 

Catius  is  ever  moral,  ever  grave, 
Thinks  who  endures  a  knave,  is  next  a  knave, 
Save  just  at  dinner — then,  prefers,  no  doubt, 

1  "  Chandos."    James  Brydges,  first  duke  of  Chandos.    See  notes 
to  "  Essay  of  the  Use  of  Riches." 

2  "  Manly.  "      The    principal   character    in  Wycherly's    "  Plain 
Dealer,"  a  comedy  taken  from  Moliers's  "  Misanthrope." 

3  "Umbra"  was  supposed  to  be  Bubb  Doddington,  the  favourite 
adviser  of  Agusta,  Princess  of  Wales,  mother  of  George  III.     For 
political  subserviency  to  Sir  Robert  Walpoie,  he  was  created  Lord 
Melcombe-Regis. 

*  Meaning  Queen  Caroline,  Consort  of  George  II  fwiioin  he  disliked, 

*  Pean 


226  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

A  rogue  with  venison  to  a  saint  without. 

Who  would  not  praise  Patritio's1  high  desert, 
His  hand  unstained,  his  uncorrupted  heart, 
His  comprehensive  head !  all  interests  weighed, 
All  Europe  saved,  yet  Britain  not  betrayed. 
He  thanks  you  not,  his  pride  is  in  piquet, 
Newmarket-fame,  and  judgment  at  a  bet. 

"What  made  (say  Montagne,2  or  more  sage  Char 

ron!) 

Otho  a  warrior,  Cromwell  a  buffoon  ? 
A  perjured  prince  a  leaden  saint  revere,3 
A  godless  regent  tremble  at  a  star?1 
The  throne  a  bigot  keep,  a  genius  quit,5 
Faithless  through  piety,  and  duped  through  wit  ? 
Europe  a  woman,  child  or  dotard  rule,6 
And  just  her  wisest  monarch  made  a  fool? 

Know,  God  and  Nature  only  are  the  same : 
In  man,  the  judgment  shoots  at  flying  game, 
A  bird  of  passage !  gone  as  soon  as  found, 
Now  in  the  moon  perhaps,  now  under  ground. 

n. 

In  vain  the  sage,  with  retrospective  eye, 
Would  from  the  apparent  Wliat  conclude  the  Why, 
Infer  the  motive  from  the  deed,  and  show, 
That  what  we  chanced,  was  what  we  meant  to  do. 
Behold !  if  fortune  or  a  mistress  frowns, 
Some  plunge  in  business,  others  shave  their  crowns: 
To  ease  the  soul  of  one  oppressive  weight, 

1  Lord  Godolphin;  "though  he  was  a  great  gamester,"  says  War- 
ton,  "  yet  he  was  an  able  and  honest  minister." 

2  Montaigne,  the  celebrated  French  essayist— his  name  was  often 
thus  spelt  in  Pope's  time.    He  lived  between  1533  and  1592.      Peter 
Charron  was  his  dearest  friend ;  he  permitted  Charron  to  bear  the 
Montaigne  arms.      In  Charron's   "  Book  of  Wisdom,"   published  in 
1601,  he  inserted  a  great  many  of  Montaigne's  sentiments. 

"  Pope  has  borrowed  many  sensible  remarks  from  .Charron,  of 
whom  Bolingbroke  was  particularly  fond." — Warton. 

3  Louis  XI.  of  France  wore  in  his  hat  a  leaden  image  of  the  Virgin 
Mary,  which  when  he  swore  by,  he  feared  to  break  his  oath.— Pope. 

4  The  regent  Duke  of  Orleans,  who,  though  an  infidel,  believed  in 
astrology. 

5  Philip  V.  of  Spain  who,  after  renouncing  the  throne  for  religion, 
resumed  it  to  gratify  his  Queen;  and  Victor  Amadeus  II.  King  of 
Sardinia,  who  resigned  the  crown,  and,  trying  to  resume  it,  was  im- 
prisoned till  his  death.— Pope. 

6  The  Czarina  Catherine  II.,  the  King  of  France  (then  a  child),  th$ 
Pope,  and  Victor  Amadeus  of  Sardinia, 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  227 

This  quits  an  empire,   that  embroils  a  state: 
The  same  adust  complexion  has  impelled 
Charles  to  the  convent,  Philip  to  the  field.1 

Not  always  actions  show  the  man  we  find 
Who  does  a  kindness  is  not  therefore  kind; 
Perhaps  prosperity  becalmed  his  breast, 
Perhaps  the  wind  just  shifted  from  the  east: 
Not  therefore  humble  he  who  seeks  retreat, 
Pride  guides  his  steps,  and  bids  him  shun  the  great: 
Who  combats  bravely  is  not  therefore  brave, 
He  dreads  a  death-bed  like  the  meanest  slave : 
Who  reasons  wisely  is  not  therefore  wise, 
His  pride  in  reasoning,  not  in  acting  lies. 

But  grant  that  actions  best  discover  man; 
Take  the  most  strong,  and  sort  them  as  you  can. 
The  few  that  glare  each  character  must  mark, 
You  balance  not  the  many  in  the  dark. 
What  will  you  do  with  such  as  disagree  ? 
Suppress  them  or  miscall  them  policy  ? 
Must  then  at  once  (the  character  to  save) 
The  plain  rough  hero  turn  a  crafty  knave  ? 
Alas !  in  truth  the  man  but  changed  his  mind? 
Perhaps  was  sick,  in  love,  or  had  not  dined. 
Ask  why  from  Britain  Caesar  would  retreat  ? 
Caesar  himself  might  whisper  he  was  beat. 
Why  risk  the  world's  great  empire  for  a  Punk  ?2 
Caesar  perhaps  might  answer  he  was  drunk. 
But,  sage  historians !  tis  your  task  to  prove 
One  action  conduct;  one,  heroic  love. 

'Tis  from  high  life  high  characters  are  drawn; 
A  saint  in  crape  is  twice  a  saint  in  lawn; 
A  judge  is  just,    a  chancellor  juster  still; 
A  gownsman,  learned;  a  bishop  what  you  will; 
Wise,  if  a  minister;  but,  if  a  king, 
More  wise,  more  learned,  more  just,  more  everything. 
Court-virtues  bear,  like  gems,  the  highest  rate, 
Born  where  Heaven's  influence  scarce  can  penetrate : 

1  Charles  V.,  Emperor  of  Germany,  a  great  and  ambitious  states- 
man, resigned  his  crown  and  retired  to  a  cloister.      Philip  II.,  his 
son,  husband  to  Mary  of  England,  though  a  bookish  man,  fought  the 
battle  of  St.  Quintin. 

2  After  the  battle  of  Pharsalia,  Caesar  pursued  his  enemies  to  Alex- 
andria, where  he  became  infatuated  with  Cleopatra,  and   brought 
on  himself  an  unnecessary  war  at  a  time  his  arms  were  needed  else,- 
where  to  disperse  the  relics  of  Pompey's  army, 


228  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

In  life's  low  vale,  the  soil  the  virtues  like, 
They  please  as  beauties,  here  as  wonders  strike 
Though  the  same  sun  with  all-diffusive  rays 
Blush  in  the  rose,  and  in  the  diamond  blaze, 
We  prize  the  stronger  effort  of  his  power, 
And  justly  set  the  gem  above  the  flower. 

'Tis  education  forms  the  common  mind, 
Just  as  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree's  inclined. 
Boastful  and  rough,  your  first  son  is  a  squire; 
The  next  a  tradesman,  meek,  and  much  a  liar; 
Tom  struts  a  soldier,  open,  bold,  and  brave; 
Will  sneaks  a  scrivener,  an  exceeding  knave: 
Is  he  a  churchman  ?  then  he's  fond  of  power: 
A  Quaker?  sly:  a  Presbyterian ?  sour: 
A  smart  free-thinker  ?  all  things  in  an  hour. 

Ask  men's  opinions:  Scoto  now  shall  tell 
How  trade  increases,  and  the  world  goes  well; 
Strike  off  his  pension,  by  the  setting  sun, 
And  Britain,  if  not  Europe,  is  undone. 

That  gay  free-thinker,  a  fine  talker  once, 
What  turns  him  now  a  stupid  silent  dunce  ? 
Some  god,  or  spirit  he  has  lately  found: 
Or  chanced  to  meet  a  minister  that  frowned. 

Judge  we  by  nature  ?  habit  can  efface, 
Interest  o'ercome,  or  policy  take  place: 
By  actions?  those  uncertainty  divides: 
By  passions?  these  dissimulation  hides: 
Opinions?  they  still  take  a  wider  range: 
Find,  if  you  can,  in  what  you  cannot  change. 

Manners  with  fortunes,  humours  turn  with  climes, 
Tenets  with  books,  and  principles  with  times. 

in. 

Search  then  the  Ruling  Passion:  there,  alone, 
The  wild  are  constant,  and  the  cunning  known; 
The  fool  consistent,  and  the  false  sincere; 
Priests,  princes,  women,  no  dissemblers  here. 
This  cine  once  found,  unravels  all  the  rest, 
The  prospect  clears,  and  Wharton  stands  confest.1 
Wharton,  the  scorn  and  wonder  of  our  days, 

1  Philip,  Duke  of  Wharton,  born  1698;  died  a  monk  in  Spain,  1731. 
His  eccentric  and  dissipated  career  rendered  him  remarkable.  He 
was,  towards  the  end  of  his  life,  attached  to  the  Court  of  the  Prer 
tender, 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  229 

Whose  ruling  passion  was  the  lust  of  praise: 
Born  with  whatever  could  win  it  from  the  wise, 
Women  and  fools  must  him  like  or  he  dies;  — 
Though  wond'ring  senates  hung  on  all  he  spokej 
The  club  must  hail  him  master  of  the  joke. 
Shall  parts  so  various  aim  at  nothing  new  ? 
He'll  shine  a  Tully  and  a  WTilmot  too.1 
Then  turns  repentant,  and  his  God  adores 

With  the  same  spirit  that  he  drinks  and  w ; 

Enough  if  all  around  him  but  admire, 

And  now  the  punk  applaud,  and  now  the_fripr. 

Thus  with  each  gift  of  nature  and  of  art, 

And  wanting  nothing  but  an  honest  hearty 

Grown  all  to  all,  from  no  one  vice  exempt; 

And  most  contemptible,  to  shun  contempt: 

His  passion  still,  to  covet  general  praise, 

His  life,  to  forfeit  it  a  thousand  ways; 

A  constant  bounty  which  no  friend  has  made; 

An  angel  tongue,  which  no  man  can  persuade; 

A  fool,  with  more  of  wit  than  half  mankind, 

Too  rash  for  thought,  for  action  too  refined: 

A  tyrant  to  the  wife  his  heart  approves; 

A  rebel  to  the  very  king  he  loves; 

He  dies,  sad  outcast  of  each  church  and  state, 

And,  harder  still !  flagitious,  yet  not  great. 

Ask  you  why  Wharton  broke  through  every  rule  ? 

'Twas  all  for  fear  the  knaves  should  call  him  fooL 

Nature  well  known,  no  prodigies  remain, 
Comets  are  regular,  and  Wharton  plain. 

Yet,  in  this  search,  the  wisest  may  mistake, 
If  second  qualities  for  first  they  take. 
When  Catiline  by  rapine  sweUed  his  store; 

When  Csesar  made  a  noble  dame2  a  w ; 

In  this  the  lust,  in  that  the  avarice 

Where  means,  not  ends;  ambition  was  the  vice. 

That  very  Caesar,  born  in  Scipio's  days, 

Had  aimed  like  him,  by  chastity  at  praise. 

Lucullus,3  when  frugality  could  charm, 

Had  roasted  turnips  in  the  Sabine  farm. 

1  John  Wilmot,  E.  of  Rochester,  famous  for  his  wit  and  extrava- 
gancies in  the  time  of  Charles  II. —  Warburton. 

2  Servilia,  the  mother  of  Brutus. 

3  A  wealthy  Roman,  famed  for  the  extravagant  luxury  of  his  mode 
Of  life. 


230  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

In  vain  th'  observer  eyes  the  builder's  toil, 
But  quite  mistakes  the  scaffold  for  the  pile. 

In  this  one  passion  man  can  strength  enjoy, 
As  fits  give  vigour,  just  when  they  destroy. 
Time,  that  on  all  things  lays  his  lenient  hand, 
Yet  tames  not  this;  it  sticks  to  our  last  sand. 
Consistent  in  our  follies  and  our  sins, 
Here  honest  nature  ends  as  she  begins. 

Old  politicians  chew  on  wisdon  past, 
And  totter  on  in  bus'ness  to  the  last; 
As  weak,  as  earnest;  and  as  gravely  out, 
As  sober  Lanesb'rough1  dancing  in  the  gout. 

Behold  a  rev'rend  sire,  whom  want  of  grace 
Has  made  the  father  of  a  nameless  race, 
Shoved  from  the  wall  perhaps,  or  rudely  pressed 
By  his  own  son,  that  passes  by  unblessed: 
Still  to  his  wench  he  crawls  on  knocking  kness, 
And  envies  ev'ry  sparrow  that  he  sees. 
A  salmon's  belly,  Helluo,  "was  thy  fate;" 
The  doctor  called,  declares  all  help  too  late: 
"  Mercy,"  cries  Helluo,  "  mercy  on  my  soul ! 
Is  there  no  hope? — Alas! — then  bring  the  jowl." 

The  frugal  crone,  whom  praying  priests  attend, 
Still  tries  to  save  the  hallowed  taper's  end, 
Collects  her  breath  as  ebbing  life  retires. 
For  one  puff  more,  and  in  that  puff  expires.2 

"  Odious !  in  wollen !  'twould  a  saint  provoke/' 
(Were  the  last  words  that  poor  Narcissa  spoke)3 
"  No,  let  a  charming  chintz,  and  Brussels  lace 
Wrap  my  cold  limbs,  and  shade  my  lifeless  face: 
One  would  not,  sure,  be  frightful  when  one's  dead— • 
And — Betty — give  this  cheek  a  little  red." 

The  courtier  smooth,  who  forty  years  had  shined 
An  humble  servant  to  all  human  kind, 

1  An  ancient  nobleman,  who  continued  this  practice  long  after  his 
legs  were  disabled  by  the  gout.     Upon  the  death  of  Prince  George  of 
Denmark  he  demanded  an  audience  of  the  Queen,  to  advise  her  to 
preserve  her  health,  and  dispel  her  grief  by  dancing. — Pope. 

2  A  fact  told  Pope  by  Lady  Bolingbroke  of  an  old  countess  at  Paris. 

—  Warburton. 

s  This  story,  as  well  as  the  others,  is  founded  on  fact,  though  the 
author  had  the  goodness  not  to  mention  the  names.  Several  at- 
tribute this  in  particular  to  a  very  celebrated  actress  (Mrs.  Oldfleld), 
who,  in  detestation  of  the  thought  of  being  buried  in  woollen,  gave 
these  her  last  orders  with  her  dying  breath. — Pope.  The  Betty  here 
mentioned  was  Mrs,  Saunders,  Mrs.  Oldneld's  friend  and  confidante, 

—  War  ton. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  231 

Just  brought  out  this,  when  scarce  his  tongue  could 

stir, 
"If — where  I'm  going — I  could  serve  you,  sir?" 

"  I  give  and  I  devise  "  (old  Euclio  said, 
And  sighed)  "my  lands  and  tenements  to  Ned." 
"Your  money,  sir;"  "My  money,  sir,  what  all? 
Why, — if  I  must — (then  wept)  I  give  it  Paul." 
"The  manor,  sir?" — "The  manor!  hold," he  cried, 
"  Not  that, — I  cannot  part  with  that " — and  died.1 

And  you,  brave  Cobham !  to  the  latest  breath 
Shall  feel  your  ruling  passion  strong  in  death: 
Such  in  those  moments  as  in  all  the  past; 
"  Oh,  save  my  country,  heav'n ! "  shall  be  your  last. 


EPISTLE  n. 
TO    A    LADY.2 

OP  THE   CHAKACTEKS   OF  WOMEN. 

NOTHING  so  true  as  what  you  once  let  fall, 
"  Most  women  have  no  characters  at  all." 
Matter  too  soft  a  lasting  mark  to  bear, 
And  best  distinguished  by  black,  brown,  or 

How  many  pictures  of  one  nymph  we  view, 
All  how  unlike  each  other,  all  how  true ! 
Arcadia's  Countess,  here,  in  ermined  pride, 
Is,  there,  Pastora  by  a  fountain  side. 
Here  Fannia,  leering  on  her  own  good  man, 
And  there  a  naked  Leda  with  a  swan. 
Let,  then,  the  fair  one  beautifully  cry, 
In  Magdalen's  loose  hair,  and  lifted  eye, 
Or  drest  in  smiles  of  sweet.  Cecelia  shine,3 

1  Sir  William  Bateman  used  those  very  words  on  his  deatnbed.— 
Warton 

2  Mrs.  Martha  Blount  (daughter  of  Lyster  Blount,  Esq.,  0?  Maple 
Durham),  the  friend  and  favourite  of  Pope. 

3  Attitudesjn  which  several  ladies  affected  to  be  drawn,  and  some- 
times one  lady  in  them  all.    The  poet's  politeness  and  complaisance 
to  the  sex  is  observable  in  this  instance,  amongst  others,  that  where, 
as  in  the  "Characters  of  Men,"  he  has  sometimes  made  use  of  real 
names,  in  the  "Characters  of  Women"  always  fictitious.— Pope. 


232  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

With  simp'ring  angels,  palms,  and  harps  divine; 
Whether  the  charmer  sinner  it,  or  saint  it, 
If  folly  grow  romantic,  I  must  paint  it. 

Come,  then,  the  colours  and  the  ground  prepare ! 
Dip  in  the  rainbow,  trick  her  off  in  air; 
Choose  a  firm  cloud,  before  it  fall,  and  in  it 
Catch,  ere  she  change,  the  Cynthia  of  this  minute. 

Rufa,  whose  eye  quick-glancing  o'er  the  park,1 
Attracts  each  light  gay  meteor  of  a  spark, 
Agrees  as  ill  with  Rufa  studying  Locke, 
As  Sappho's  diamonds  with  her  dirty  sinock,'2 
Or  Sappho  at  her  toilet's  greasy  task, 
With  Sappho  fragrant  at  an  evening  masque: 
So  morning  insects  that  in  muck  begun, 
Shine,  buzz,  and  fly-blow  in  the  setting-sun. 

How  soft  is  Silia!  fearful  to  offend;3 
The  frail  one's  advocate,  the  weak  one's  friend: 
To  her,  Calista  proved  her  conduct  nice; 
And  good  Simplicius  asks  of  her  advice. 
Sudden,  she  storms !  she  raves !     You  tip  the  wink, 
But  spare  your  censure ;  Silia  does  not  drink. 
All  eyes  may  see  from  what  the  change  arose, 
All  eyes  may  see — a  pimple  on  her  nose. 

PapiUia,  wedded  to  her  am'rous  spark, 
Sighs  for  the  shades — "  How  charming  is  a  park !" 
A  park  is  purchased,  but  the  fair  he  sees 
All  bathed  in  tears — "  Oh,  odious,  odious  trees !" 

JLadies,  like  variegated  tulips,  show; 
'Tis  to  their  changes  half  their  charms  we  owe: 
Fine  by  defect,  and  delicately  weak, 
Their  happy  spots  the  nice  admirer  take, 
'Twas  thus  Calypso  once  each  heart  alarmed/ 
Awed  without  virtue,  without  beauty  charmeu; 
Her  tongue  bewitched  as  oddly  as  her  eyes, 
Less  wit  than  mimic,  more  a  wit  than  wise; 
Strange  graces  still,  and  stranger  flights  she  had, 
Was  just  not  ugly,  and  was  just  not  mad; 
Yet  ne'er  so  sure  our  passion  to  create, 

1  Instances  of  contrarieties,  given  even  from  such  characters  as  are 
most  strongly  marked,  and  seemingly  therefore  most  consistent;  as 
I. :  in  the  ••  Affected,"  ver.  21.— Pope. 

2  It  appears  very  clear  that  by  Sappho  throughout,  Lady  Mary  W. 
Montagu  must  have  been  meant. — Bowles. 

3  II.    Contrarieties  in  the  "  Soft-natured."— Pope. 

*  III.  Contrarieties  in  tlie  "Cuimiug"  and  "Artful." 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  233 

As  when  she  touched  the  brink  of  all  we  hate.  i  ; 

Narcissa's  nature,  tolerably  mild.1 
To  make  a  wash,  would  hardly  stew  a  child; 
Has  even  been  proved  to  grant  a  lover's  prayer, 
And  paid  a  tradesman  once  to  make  him  stare; 
Gave  alms  at  Easter,  in  a  Christian  trim, 
And  made  a  widow  happy,  for  a  whim. 
Why  then  declare  good  nature  is  her  scorn, 
When  'tis  by  that  alone  she  can  be  borne  ? 
Why  pique  all  mortals,  yet  affect  a  name  ?      ntf 
A  fool  to  pleasure,  yet  a  slave  to  fame: 
Now  deep  in  Taylor  and  the  Book  of  Martyrs, 
Now  drinking  citron  with  his  grace  and  Chartres:2 
Now  conscience  chills  her,  and  now  passion  burns; 
And  Atheism  and  religion  take  their  turns; 
A  very  heathen  in  the  carnal  part,' 
Yet  still  a  sad,  good  Christian^at  her  heart. 

See  sin  in,  state,  majestically  cEunk; 
Proud  as  a  peeress,3  prouder  as  a  punk; 
Chaste  to  her  husband,  frank  to  all  beside, 
A  teeming  mistress,  but  a  barren  bride. 
What  then?  let  blood  and  body  bear  the  fault, 
Her  head's  untouched,  that  noble  seat  of  thought: 
Such  this  day's  doctrine — in  another  fit 
She  sins  with  poets  through  pure  love  of  wit. 
What  has  not  fired  her  bosom  or  her  brain  ? 
Caesar  and  Tall-boy,  Charles  and  Charlemagne. 
As  Kelluo,  late  dictator  of  the  feast, 
The  nose  of  Hautgout,  and  the  tip  of  taste, 
Critiqued  your  wine,  and  analyzed  your  meat, 
Yet  on  plain  pudding  deigned  at  home  to  eat; 
So  Philomele,  lecturing  all  mankind 
On  the  soft  passion,  and  the  taste  refined, 
The  address,  the  delicacy — stoops  at  once, 
And  makes  her  hearty  meal  upon  a  dunce. 

Flavia's  a  wit,  has  too  much  sense  to  pray:4 

1 IV.  In  the  "Whimsical."— Pope. 

Warton  says  that  he  heard  on  good  authority  that  Narcissa  was 
meant  for  the  Duchess  of  Hamilton. 

2  See  note  to  "  Essay  on  the  use  of  Riches  "  for  Pope's  account  of  this 
bad  man. 

8V.  In  the  "Vicious." — Pope.  Designed  for  Henrietta,  Duchess  of 
Marlborough,  who  admired  Congreve ;  and  after  his  death  caused 
a  figure  in  wax-work  to  be  made  of  him,  and  placed  frequently  at  her 
table.— Warton. 

*  VI.  Contrarieties  in  the  "Witty  and  Eefiued."— Pope. 


234  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

To  toast  our  wants  and  wishes,  is  her  way; 

Nor  asks  of  God,  but  of  her  stars;  to  give 

The  mighty  blessing,  "while  we  live,  to  live," 

Then  all  for  death,  that  opiate  of  the  soul  ! 

Lucretia's  dagger,  Rosamonda's  bowl 

Say,  what  can  cause  such  impotence  of  mind  ? 

A  spark  too  fickle,  or  a  spouse  too  kind. 

Wise  wretch!  with  pleasures  too  refined  to  please; 

With  too  much  spirit  to  be  e'er  at  ease; 

With  too  much  quickness  ever  to  be  taught; 

With  too  much  thinking  to  have  common  thought; 

You  purchase  pain  with  all  that  joy  can  give, 

And  die  of  nothing  but  a  rage  to  live. 

Turn  then  from  wits;  and  look  on  Simo's  mate, 
No  ass  so  meek,  no  ass  so  obstinate. 
Or  her,  that  owns  her  faults,  but  never  mends; 
Because  she's  honest,  and  the  best  of  friends. 
Or  her,  whose  life  the  Church  and  scandal  share, 
For  ever  in  a  passion  or  a  pray'r. 
Or  her,  who  laughs  at  hell,  but  (like  ner  grace)1        .x 
Cries,  "  Ah  !  how  charming,  if  there's  no  such  place,  v  ' 
,        Or  who  in  sweet  vicissitude  appears 
Of  mirth  and  opium,  ratifie  and  tears, 
The  daily  anodyne,   and  nightly  draught, 
To  kill  those  foes  to  fair  ones,  time  and 


Woman  and  fool  are  two  hard  things  to  hit; 
For  true  no-meaning  puzzles  more  than  wit. 
But  what  are  these  to  great  ^tossa's  mind? 
Scarce  once  herself,  by  turns  all  womankind  ! 

herself,  or  others  from  her  birth 
her  life  one  warfare  uppri  earth; 
Shines  in  exposing-  knaves,  and  painting  fools, 
Yet  is,  whate'er  she  hates  and  ridicules. 
No  thought  advances,  but  her  eddy  brain 
Whisks  it  about,  and  down  it  goes  again. 
Full  sixty  years  the  world  has  been  her  trade,* 
The  wisest  fool  much  time  has  ever  made. 
From  loveless  youth  to  unrespected  age, 
No  passion  gratified  except  her  rage. 
So  much  the  fury  still  outran  the  wit, 

1  The  person  Pope  iii  tended  to  ridicule  was  the  Duchess  of  Montague. 
t-Warton. 

2  Atossa  was   a   portrait  of  Sarah,  Duchess  of  Marlborough,   the 
favourite  and  tyrant  of  Queen  Anne. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  235 

The  pleasure  missed  her,  and  the  scandal  hit. 
Who  breaks  with  her,  provokes  revenge  from  hell, 
But  he's  a  bolder  man  who  dares  be  well. 
Her  ev'ry  turn  with  violence  pursued, 
Nor  more  a  storm  her  hate  than  gratitude: 
To  that  each  passion  turns,  or  soon  or  late; 
Love,  if  it  makes  her  yield,  must  make  her  hate: 
Superiors  ?  death  !  and  equals  what  ?  a  curse  1 
But  an  inferior  not  dependant?  worse. 
Offend  her,  and  she  knows  not  to  forgive; 
Oblige  her  and  she'll  hate  you  while  you  live: 
But  die,  and  she'll  adore  you—  -then  the  bust 
And  temple  rise  —  then  fall  again  to  dust. 
Last  night,  her  lord  was  all  that's  good  and  great; 
A  knave  this  morning,  and  his  will  a  cheat. 
Strange  !  by  the  means  defeated  of  the  ends, 
By  spirit  robbed  of  pow'r,  by  warmth  of  friends, 
By  wealth  of  f  ollow'rs  !  without  one  distress 
Sick  of  herself  through  very  selfishness  ! 

prayer, 


,         , 

Childless  with  all  her  children,  wants  an  heir. 
To  heirs  unknown  descends  th'  unguarded  store, 
Or  wanders,  heav'n-  directed,  to  the  poor. 

Pictures  like  these,  dear  madam,  to  design, 
Asks  no  firm  hand,  and  no  unerring  line; 
Some  wand'ring  touches,  some  reflected  light, 
Some  flying  stroke  alone  can  hit  'em  right: 
For  how  could  equal  colours  do  the  knack? 
Chameleons  who  can  paint  in  white  and  black  ? 

"  Yet  Chloe1  sure  was  formed  without  a  spot" 
Nature  in  her  then  erred  not,  but  forgot. 
"  With  ev'ry  pleasing,  ev'ry  prudent  part, 
Say,  what  can  Chloe  wrant  ?"  —  She  wants  a  heart. 
She  speaks,  behaves,  and  acts  just  as  she  ought; 
But  never,  never  reached  one  generous  thought. 
Virtue  she  finds  too  painful  an  endeavour, 
Content  to  dwell  in  decencies  for  ever. 
So  very  reasonable,  so  unmoved, 
As  never  yet  to  love,  or  to  be  loved. 
She,  while  her  lover  pants  upon  her  breast, 
Can  mark  the  figures  on  an  Indian  chest; 

when  she  sees  her  friend  in  deep  despair, 

1  Lady  Suffolk,  favourite  of  George  II. 


236  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

Observes  how  much  a  chintz  exceeds  mohair. 
Forbid  it,  Heav'n,  a  favour  or  a  debt 
She  e'er  should  cancel !  but  she  may  forgeto 
Safe  is  your  secret  still  in  Chloe's  ear; 
But  none  of  Chloe  shall  you  ever  hear. 
Of  all  her  dears  she  never  slandered  one, 
But  cares  not  if  a  thousand  are  undone. 
Would  Chloe's  know  if  you're  alive  or  dead  ? 
She  bids  her  footman  put  it  in  her  head.1 
Chloe  is  prudent — would  you  too  be  wise  ? 
Then  never  break  your  heart  when  Chloe  dies. 

One  certain  portrait  may  (I  grant)  be  seen, 
Which  Heaven  has  varnished  out,  and  made  a  queen: 
The  same  for  ever !  and  described  by  all 
With  truth  and  goodness,  as  with  crown  and  ball. 
Poets  heap  virtues,  painters  gems  at  will, 
And  show  their  zeal,  and  hide  their  want  of  skill 
'Tis  well — but,  artists !  who  can  paint  or  write, 
To  draw  the  naked  is  your  true  delight. 
That  robe  of  quality  so  struts  and  swells, 
None  see  what  parts  of  nature  it  conceals: 
The  exactest  traits  of  body  or  of  mind, 
We  owe  to  models  of  an  humble  kind. 
If  Queensbury2  to  strip  there's  no  compelling, 
'Tis  from  a  handmaid  we  must  take  a  Helen. 
From  peer  or  bishop  'tis  no  easy  thing 
To  draw  the  man  who  loves  his  God,  or  king: 
Alas !  I  copy  (or  my  draught  would  fail) 
From  honest  Mahomet,3  or  plain  Parson  Hale.4 

But  grant,  in  public  men  sometimes  are  shown, 
A  woman's  seen  in  private  life  alone: 
Our  bolder  talents  in  full  light  displayed; 
Your  virtues  open  fairest  in  the  shade. 
Bred  to  disguise,  in  public  'tis  you  hide; 
There,  none  distinguish  'twixt  your  shame  or  pride, 

1  Pope  being  at  dinner  with  Lady  Suffolk,  heard  ner  tell  her  footman 
to  put  her  in  mind  to  send  to  know  how  Miss  Martha  Blount,  who  was 
ill,  had  passed  the  night. —  Warton. 

2  The  Duchess  of  Queensbury  ;  the  friend  and  patroness  of  Gay.    See 
her  portrait  as  "  Kitty  Ever  Fair  and  Young,"  at  the  National  Picture 
Gallery,  South  Kensington. 

3  Servant  to  the  late  king  (George  I.),  said  to  be  the  son  of  a  Turkish 
Bassa,  whom  he  took  at  the  siege  of  Buda,  and  constantly  kept  about 
his  person. — Pope. 

4  Dr.  Stephen  Hale,  not  more  estimable  for  his  useful  discoveries  as 
a  natural  philosopher,  than  for  his  exemplary  life  and  pastoral  charity 
as  a  parish  priest.— Warburton. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  237 

Weakness  or  delicacy;  all  so  nice, 
That  each  may  seem  a  virtue,  or  a  vice. 

In  men,  we  various  ruling  passions  find;1 
In  women,  two  almost  divide  the  kind; 
Those,  only  fixed,  they  first  or  last  obey, 
Jhelove  of  pleasure,  and  the  love  of  sway.     . 

That,  nature  gives;  and  where  the  lesson  taught2 
Is  but  to  please,  can  pleasure  seem  a  fault  ? 
Experience,  this;  by  man's  oppression  curst, 
They  seek  the  second  not  to  lose  the  first. 

Men,  some  to  bus'ness,  some  to  pleasure  take 
But  ev'ry  woman  is  at  heart  a  rake : 
Men,  some  to  quiet,  some  to  public  strife; 
But  ev'ry  lady  would  be  queen  for  life. 

Yet  mark  the  fate  of  a  whole  sex  of  queens  ? 
Pow'r  all  their  end,  but  beauty  all  the  means:* 
In  youth  they  conquer,  with  so  wild  a  rage, 
As  leaves  them  scarce  a  subject  in  their  age: 
For  foreign  glory,  foreign  joy,  they  roam; 
No  thought  of  peace  or  happiness  at  home. 
But  wisdom's  triumph  is  well-timed  retreat, 
As  hard  a  science  to  the  fair  as  great ! 
Beauties,  like  tyrants,  old  and  friendless  grown, 
Yet  hate  repose,  and  dread  to  be  alone, 
Worn  out  in  public,  weary  ev'ry  eye, 
Nor  leave  one  sigh  behind  them  when  they  die. 

Pleasures  the  sex,  as  children  birds,  pursue/ 
Still  out  of  reach,  yet  never  out  of  view; 
Sure  if  they  catch,  to  spoil  the  toy  at  most, 
To  covet  flying,  and  regret  when  lost;      ^A^ 
At  last  to  follies,  youth  could  scarce  defend, 
It  grows  their  age's  prudence  to  pretend; 
Ashamed  to  own  they  gave  delight  before, 
Reduced  tw*  feign  it,  when  they  give  no  more: 
As  hags  hold  Sabbaths,  less  for  joy  than  spite, 
So  these  their  merry,  miserable  night; 
Still  round  and  round  the  ghosts  of  beauty  glide,  )  -  ^^ 

1  The  former  part  having   shown   that    the    particular  characters 

of  women  are. more  various  than  those  of  men,  it  is  nevertheless     -/•/._, 
observed,  that  the  general  characteristic  of  the  sex,  as  to  the  ruling 
passion  is  more  uniform. — Pope. 

2  This  is  occasioned  partly  by  their  nature,  partly  their  edncation, 
and  in  some  degree  by  necessity. — Pope. 

3  What  are  the  aims  and  the  fate,  of  this  sex.— I.  As  to  Power.— Pope, 

4  II.  As  to  Pleasure. 


238  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

And  haunt  the  places  where  their  honour  died. 

See  how  the  world  its  veterans  rewards ! 
A  youth  of  frolics,  an  old  age  of  cards; 
Fair  to  no  purpose,  artful  to  no  end, 
Young  without  lovers,  old  without  a  friend; 
A  fop  their  passion,  but  their  prize  a  sot; 
Alive  ridiculous,  and  dead,  forgot! 

All,  friend!1  to  dazzle  let  the  vain  design;2 
Tojaise  the  thought,  and  touch  the  heart  be  thine! 
That  charm  shall  grow,  while  what  fatigues  the  Ring,3 
Flaunts  and  goes  down,  an  unregarded  thing, 
So  when  the  sun's  broad  beam  has  tired  the  sight, 
All  mild  ascends  the  moon's  more  sober  light, 
Serene  in  virgin  modesty  she  shines, 
And  unobserved  the  glaring  orb  declines. 

Oh !  blest  with  temper,  whose  unclouded  ray 
Can  make  to-morrow  cheerful  as  to-day; 
She,  who  can  love  a  sister's  charms,  or  hear, 
Sighs  for  a  daughter  with  unwounded  ear; 
She,  who  ne'er  answers  till  a  husband  cools, 
Or,  if  she  rules  him,  never  shows  she  rules: 
Charms  by  accepting,  by  submitting  sways, 
Yet  has  her  humour  most,  when  she  obeys; 
Let  fops  or  fortune  fly  which  way  they  will; 
Disdains  all  loss  of  tickets,  or  codille: 
Spleen,  vapours,  or  small-pox,  above  them  all, 
And  mistress  of  herself,,  though  China  fall.4 

And  yet,  believe  me,  good  as  well  as  ill, 
Woman's  at  best  a  contradiction  still. 
Heav'n,  when  it  strikes  to  polish  all  it  can 
Its  last  best  work,  but  forms  a  softer  man; 
Picks  from  each  sex,  to  make  the  favorite  blest, 

Your  love  of  pleasure,  our  desire  of  restj ^-- 

Blends,  in  exception  to  all  gen'ral  ruies7~~ 
Your  taste  of  follies,  with  our  scorn  of  fools: 
Reserve  with  frankness,  art  with  truth  allied, 
Courage  with  softness,  modesty  with  pride; 
Fixed  principles,  with  fancy  ever  new; 

1  Martha  Blount,  to  whom  the  poem  is  dedicated. 

2  Advice  for  their  true  interest. — Pope. 

3  The  Ring  was  a  fashionable  promenade  in  Kensington  Gardens. 

*  The  mania  for  China  was  at  that  time  remarkable.  Addison  with 
his  most  delicate  humour,  has  touched  on  the  subject  in  the  "  Lover," 
No.  10 ;  quoting  Epictetus  to  comfort  a  lady  grieving  for  such  a  mis- 
fortune. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  239 

Shakes  all  together,  and  produces— you. 

"Be  this  a  woman's  fame :  with  this  unblest, 
Toasts  live  a  scorn,  and  queens  may  die  a  jest. 
This  Phoebus  promised  (I  forget  the  year) 
When  those  blue  eyes  first  opened  on  the  sphere; 
Ascendant  Phoebus  watched  that  hour  with  care, 
Averted  half  your  parents'  simple  pray'r; 
And  gave  you  beauty,  but  denied  the  pelf 
That  buys  your  sex  a  tyrant  o'er  itself. 
The  generous  God,  who  wit  and  gold  refines, 
And  ripens  spirits  as  he  ripens  mines, 
Kept  dross  for  duchesses,  the  world  shall  know  it, 

To  you  gave  sense,  good-humour,  and  a  poet. 

...  .,  . 


EPISTLE  m.s 
TO  ALLEN    LORD   BATHURST.2 

ARGUMENT. 

OF  THE  USE  OF   RICHES. 

That  it  is'known  to  few,  most  falling  into  one  of  the  extremes,  avarice 
or  profusion,  ver.  1,  &c.    The  point  discussed,  whether  the  inven- 
tion of  money  has  been  more  commodious  or  pernicious  to  mankind, 
- 


, 

ver.  21-77.  That  riches,  either  to  the  avaricious  or  the  prodigal, 
cannot  afford  happiness,  scarcely  necessaries,  ver.  89-160.  That 
avarice  is  an  absolute  frenzy,  without  an  end  or  purpose,  ver.  113, 


&c.,  152.     Conjectures  about  the  motives  of  avaricious  men,  ver. 
121-153.    That  the  conduct  of  men,  with  respect  to  riches,  can  only 

1  This  epistle  was  written  after  a  violent  outcry  against  our  author, 
on  a  supposition  that  he  had  ridiculed  a  worthy  nobleman  ^merely  for 
his  wrong  taste.*    He  justified  himself  upon  that  article  in  'a  letter  to 
the  Earl  of  Burlington,  at  the  end  of  which  are  these  words  :   "I  have 
learnt  that  there  are  some  who  would  rather  be  wicked  than  ridicu- 
lous ;  and  therefore  it  may  be  safer  to  attack  vices  than  follies.    I  will 
therefore  leave  my  betters  in  the  quiet  possession  of  their  idols,  their 
groves,  and  their  high  places  ;  and  change  my  subject  from  their  pride 
to  their  meanness,  from  their  vanities  to  their  miseries  ;  and  as  the 
only  certain  way  to  avoid  misconstructions,  to  lessen  offence,  and  not 
to  multiply  ill-natured  applications,  I  may  probably  in  my  next,  make 
use  of  real  names  instead  of  fictitious  ones."  —  Pope. 

2  This  Epistle  is  written  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue  between  the  poet 
and  Lord  Bathurst. 

"  None  of  my  works  "  said  Pope  to  Mr.  Spence,  "was  more  laboured 
than  my  '  Epistle  on  the  Use  of  Riches.'  " 


*  The  Duke  of  Chaudos  in  the  next  Epistle  as  Timon. 


240  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

be  accounted  for  by  the  Order  of  Providence,  which  works  the 
general  good  out  of  extremes,  and  brings  all  to  its  great  end 
by  perpetual  revolutions,  ver.  161-178.  How  a  miser  acts  upon 
principles  which  appear  to  him  reasonable,  ver.  179.  How  a  prodi- 
gal does  the  same,  ver  199.  The  due  medium,  and  true  use  of 
riches,  ver.  219.  The  Man  of  Koss,  ver.  250.  The  fate  of  the  pro- 
fuse and  the  covetous,  in  two  examples ;  both  miserable  in  life  and 
in  death,  ver.  300,  &e.  The  story  of  Sir  Balaam,  ver.  339  to  the  end. 

P.  WHO  shall  decide,  when  doctors  disagree, 
And  soundest  casuists  doubt,  like  you  and  me  ? 
You  hold  the  word,  from  Jove  to  Momus  giv'n 
That  man  was  made  the  standing  jest  of  heav'n; 
And  gold  but  sent  to  keep  the  fools  in  play, 
For  some  to  heap,  and  some  to  throw  away. 

But  I,  who  think  more  highly  of  our  kind, 
(And  surely,  Heav'n  and  I  are  of  a  mind) 
Opine,  that  nature,  as  in  duty  bound, 
Deep  hid  the  shining  mischief  under  ground: 
But  when  by  man's  audacious  labour  won, 
Flamed  forth  this  rival  to  its  sire,  the  sun, 
Then  careful  Heav'n  supplied  two  sorts  of  men, 
To  squander  these,  and  those  to  hide  again. 

Like  doctors  thus,  when  much  dispute  has  past, 
We  find  our  tenets  just  the  same  at  last. 
Both  fairly  owning  riches,  in  effect, 
No  grace  of  Heav'n  or  token  of  the  elect; 
Giv'n  to  the  fool,  the  mad,  the  vain,  the  evil, 
To  Ward/  to  Waters,  Chartres,2  and  the  DeviL 

1  John  "Ward,  of  Hackney,  Esq.,  member  of  Parliament,  being  prose- 
cuted by  the  Duchess  of  Buckingham,  and  convicted  of  forgery,  was 
first  expelled  the  House,  and  then  stood  in  the  pillory  on  the  17th  of 
March,  1727.  He  was  suspected  of  joining  in  TI  conveyance  with  Sir 
John  Blunt,  to  secrete  fifty  thousand  pounds  of  that  director's  estate, 
forfeited  to  the  South  Sea  Company  by  Act  of  Parliament.  The  com- 
pany recovered  the  fifty  thousand  pounds  against  Ward ;  but  he  setup 
prior  conveyances  of  his  real  estate  to  his  brother  and  son,  and  con- 
cealed all  his  personal,  which  was  computed  to  be  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  pounds.  These  conveyances  being  also  set  aside  by  a 
bill  in  Chancery,  Ward  was  imprisoned,  and  hazarded  the  forfeiture  of 
his  life,  by  not  giving  in  his  effects  till  the  last  day.  which  was  that  of 
his  examination.  During  his  confinement,  his  amusement  was  to  give 
poison  to  dogs  and  cats,  and  to  see  them  expire  by  slower  or  quicker 
torments.  To  sum  up  the  worth  of  this  gentleman,  at  the  several  eras 
of  his  life,  at  his  standing  in  the  pillory  he  was  worth  about  two  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds  ;  at  his  commitment  to  prison,  he  was  worth  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds ;  but  has  been  since  so  far  diminish- 
ed in  his  reputation,  as  to  be  thought  a  worse  man  by  fifty  or  sixty 
thousand. — Pope. 

-  Fr.  Chartres,  a  man  infamous  for  all  manner  of  vices.— When  ho 
was  an  ensign  in  the  army,  he  was  drummed  out  of  the  regiment  for  a 
cheat;  he  was  next  banished  Brussels,  and  drummed  out  of  Ghent  on 
the  same  account.  After  a  hundred  tricks  at  the  gaming  tables,  he 
took  to  lending  of  money  at  exorbitant  interest  and  on  great  penalties, 
accumulating  premium,  interest,  and  capital,  into  a  now  capital  and 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  241 

B.  What  nature  wants,  commodious  gold  bestows, 
'Tis  thus  we  eat  the  bread  another  sows. 

P.  But  how  unequal  it  bestows,  observe, 
'Tis  thus  we  riot,  while,  who  sow  it,  starve; 
What  nature  wants  (a  phrase  I  much  distrust) 
Extends  to  luxury,  extends  to  lust: 
Useful,  I  grant,  it  serves  what  life  requires, 
But,  dreadful  too,  the  dark  assassin  hires. 

B.  Trade  it  may  help,  society  extend. 

P.  But  lures  the  pirate,  and  corrupts  the  friend. 

seizing  to  a  minute  when  the  payments  became  due;  in  a  word,  by 
a  constant  attention  to  the  vices,  wants,  and  follies  of  mankind,  he 
acquired  an  immense  fortune.  He  was  twice  condemned  for  great 
crimes,  and  pardoned ;  but  the  last  time  not  without  imprisonment  in 
Newgate,  and  large  confiscations.  He  died  in  Scotland  in  1731,  aged  62. 
The  populace  at  his  funeral  raised  a  great  riot,  almost  tore  the  body 
out  of  the  coffin,  and  cast  dead  dogs,  &c.,  into  the  grave  along  with  it. 
The  following  epitapth  contains  his  character  very  justly  drawn 
by  Dr,  Arbuthnot : — 

Here  continueth  to  rot 

The  body  of  FRANCIS  CHARTRES. 

"Who  with  an  inflexible  constancy,  and 

inimitable  uniformity  of  life. 

Persisted, 

In  spite  of  age  and  infirmities, 

In  the  practice  of  every  human  vice  ; 

Excepting   prodigality    and    hypocrisy: 

His  insatiable  avarice  except'ed  him' 

from  the  first, 

His  matchless  impudence  from  the  second. 
Nor  was  he  more  singular  in  the  undeviating 

pravity  pi*  his  manners 

Than  successful  in  accumulating  wealth. 

For,   without  trade  or  profession, 

Without  trust  of  public  money, 

And  without  bribe-worthy  service, 

He  acquired,  or  more  properly  created, 

A  ministerial  estate. 

He  was  the  only  person  of  his  time, 

"Who  could  cheat  without  the  mask  of  honesty 

Retain  his  primeval  meanness 
When  possessed  of  ten  thousand  a  year, 
And  having  daily  deserved  the  gibbet  for  what  he  did, 
Was  at  last  condemned  to  it  for  what  lie  could  not  do. 

Oh,  indignant  reader! 

Think  not  his  life  useless  to  mankind ! 

Providence  connived  at  his  execrable  designs, 

To  give  to  after  ages 

A  conspicuous  proof  and  example, 

Of  how  small  estimation  is  exorbitant 

wealth  in  the  sight  of  God, 

By  his  bestowing  it  on  the  most  unworthy 

of  all  mortals. 

This  gentleman  was  worth  seven  thousand  pounds  a  year  estate  in  land, 
and  about  one  hundred  thousand  in  money. — Pope. 

Mr.  Waters,  the  second  of  these  worthies,  was  a  man  no  way  resem- 
bling the  former  in  his  military,  but  extremely  so  in  his  civil,  capacity; 
his  great  fortune  having  been  raised  by  the  like  diligent  attendance  on 
the  necessities  of  others.  But  this  gentleman's  history  must  be 
deferred  till  his  death,  when  his  worth  may  be  known  more  certainly. 
—Pope. 


242  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

B.  It  raises  armies  in  a  nation's  aid. 

P.  But  bribes  a  senate,  and  the  land's  betrayed, 
In  vain  may  heroes  fight,  and  patriots  rave; 
If  secret  gold  sap  on  from  knave  to  knave. 
Once,  we  confess,  beneath  the  patriot's  cloak,1 
From  the  cracked  bag  the  dropping  guinea  spoke, 
And  jingling  down  the  back-stairs,  told  the  crew, 
"  Old  Cato  is  as  great  a  rogue  as  you." 
Blest  paper-credit !  last  and  best  supply ! 
That  lends  corruption  lighter  wings  to  fly ! 
Gold  imp'd  by  thee,  can  compass  hardest  things, 
Can  pocket  states,  can  fetch  or  carry  kings;2 
A  single  leaf  shall  waft  an  army  o'er, 
Or  ship  off  senates  to  a  distant  shore;3 
A  leaf,  like  Sibyl's,  scatter  to  and  fro 
Our  fates  and  fortunes,  as  the  winds  shall  blow: 
Pregnant  with  thousands  flits  the  scrap  unseen, 
And  silent  sells  a  king,  or  buys  a  queen.4 

Oh !  that  such  bulky  bribes  as  all  might  see, 
Still,  as  of  old,  encumbered  villany ! 
Could  France  or  Borne  divert  our  brave  designs, 
With  all  their  brandies  or  with  all  their  wines  ? 
What  could  they  more  than  knights  and  squires  con- 
found, 

Or  water  all  the  quorum  ten  miles  round  ? 
A  statesman's  slumbers  how  this  speech  would  spoil ! 
"  Sir,  Spain  has  sent  a  thousand  jars  of  oil; 
Huge  bales  of  British  cloth  blockade  the  door; 
A  hundred  oxen  at  your  levee  roar." 

Poor  avarice  one  torment  more  would  find; 
Nor  could  profusion  squander  all  in  kind. 
Astride  his  cheese  Sir  Morgan  might  we  meet; 

1  This  is  a  true  story,  which  happened  in  the  reign  of  William  TIT.  to 
an  unsuspected  old  patriot,  who  coming  out  at  the  back-door  from  hav- 
ing been  closeted   by  the  king,  where  he  had  received  a  large  bag 
of  guineas,   the  bursting  of  the  bag  discovered  his  business  there. 
According  to  Warburtou,  this  was  Sir  Christopher  Musgrave.— Pope. 

2  In  our  author's  time,  many  princes  had  been  sent  about  the  world, 
and  great  changes  of  kings  projected  in  Europe.     The  partition-treaty 
had  disposed  of  Spain  ;  France  had  set  up  a  king  for  England,  who  was 
sent  to  Scotland,  and  back  again  ;  King  Stanislaus  was  sent  to  Poland, 
and  back  again ;  the  Duke  of  Aujou  was  sent  to  Spain,  and  Don  Carlos 
to  Italy. — Pope. 

3  Alludes  to  several  ministers,  counsellors,  and  patriots  banished 
in  our  times  to  Siberia,  and  to  that  more  glorious  fate  of  the  Parlia- 
ment of  Paris,  banished  to  Pontoise  in  the  year  1720.— Pope. 

4  Supposed  to  be  a  stroke  of  satire  on  Queen  Caroline.      Pope  wa3 
an  adherent  of  the  "King  over  the  water,"  wliom  he  believed  to  kave 
been  sold  by  traitors, 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  243 

And  Worldly  crying  coals  from  street  to  street.1 
Whom  with  a  wig  so  wild,  and  mien  so  mazed, 
Pity  mistakes  for  some  poor  tradesman  crazed. 
Had  Colepepper's2  whole  wealth  been  hops  and  hogs, 
Could  he  himself  have  sent  it  to  the  dogs? 
His  grace  will  game :  to  White's3  a  bull  he  led, 
With  spurning  heels  and  with  a  butting  head. 
To  White's  be  carried,  as  to  ancient  games. 
Fair  coursers,  vases,  and  alluring  dames. 
Shall  then  Uxorio,  if  the  stakes  he  sweep, 

Bear  home  six  w ,  and  make  his  lady  weep  ? 

Or  soft  Adonis,  so  perfumed  and  fine, 

Drive  to  St.  James's  a  whole  herd  of  swine  ? 

Oh  filthy  check  on  all  industrious  skill, 

To  spoil  the  nation's  last  great  trade,  quadrille ! 

Since  then,  my  lord,  on  such  a  world  we  fall, 

What  say  you?  B.  Say?  Why  take  it,  gold  and  all. 

P.  What  riches  give  us  let  us  then  inquire : 
Meat,  fire,  and  clothes.     B.  What  more  ?     P.  Meat, 

clothes,  and  fire. 

Is  this  too  little  ?  would  you  more  than  live  ? 
Alas !  'tis  more  than  Turner4  finds  they  give. 
Alas!  'tis  more  than  (ah1  his  visions  past) 
Unhappy  Wharton,5  waking,  found  at  last! 
What  can  they  give?  to  dying  Hopkins,6  heirs; 

1  Some  misers  of  great  wealth,  proprietors  of  the  coal  mines,  had 
entered  at  this  time  into  an  association  to  keep  up  coals  to  an  ex- 
travagant price,  whereby  the  poor  were  reduced  almost  to  starve,  till 
one  of  them  taking  the  advantage  of  underselling  the  rest,  defeated 
the  design.    One  of  these  misers  was  worth  ten  thousand,  another 
seven  thousand  a  year.— Pope 

2  Sir  William  Colepepper,  Bart.,  a  person  of  an  ancient  family, 
and  ample  fortune,  without  one  other  quality  of  a  gentleman,  who, 
after  ruining  himself  at  the  gaming-table,  passed  the  rest  of  his 
days  in  sitting  there  to  see  the  ruin  of  others ;  preferring  to  subsist 
upon  borrowing  and  begging,  rather  than  to  enter  into  any  reputable 
method  of  life,  and  refusing  a  post  in  the  army  which  was  offered 
him.— Pope. 

3  A  well-known  club. 

4  One  who,  being  possesed  of  three  hundred  thousand  pounds, 
laid  down  his  coach,  because  interest  was  reduced  from  five  to  four 
percent.,  and  then  put  seventy  thousand  into  the  Charitable  Cor- 
poration for  better  interest :  which  sum  having  lost,  he  took  it  so 
much  to  heart,  that  he  kept  his  chamber  ever  after.      It  is  thought 
he  would  not  have  outlived  it,  but  that  he  was  heir  to  another  con- 
siderable estate,  which  he  daily  expected,  and  this  by  that  course  of 
life  he  saved  both  clothes  and  all  other  expenses.— Pope. 

8  A  nobleman  of  great  qualities,  but  as  unfortunate  in  the  applica- 
tion of  them,  as  if  they  had  been  vices  and  follies.  See  his  character 
in  the  first  epistle.— Pope. 

6  A  citizen,  whose  rapacity  obtained  him  the  name  of  Vulture  Hop- 
kins. He  lived  worthless,  but  died  worth  three  hundred  thousand 


244  MOEAL  ESSAYS. 

To  Chartres,  vigour:  Japhet,  nose  and  ears?1 

Can  they,  in  gems  bid  pallid  Hippia  glow, 

In  Ful via 's  buckle  ease  the  throbs  below; 

Or  heal,  old  Narses,  thy  obscener  ail, 

With  all  the  embroidery  plastered  at  thy  tail  ? 

They  might  (were  Harpax  not  too  wise  to  spend) 

Give  Harpax'  self  the  blessing  of  a  friend; 

Or  find  some  doctor  that  would  save  the  life 

Of  wretched  Shylock,  spite  of  Shylock's  wife: 

But  thousands  die,  without  or  this  or  that, 

Die,  and  endow  a  college,  or  a  cat.2 

To  some  indeed,  Heaven  grants  the  happier  fate, 

To  enrich  a  bastard,  or  a  son  they  hate. 

Perhaps  you  think  the  poor  might  have  their  part  ? 
Bond  d — s  the  poor,  and  hates  them  from  his  heart:3 
The  grave  Sir  Gilbert4  holds  it  for  a  rule, 
That  "every  man  in  want  is  knave  or  fool:" 

pounds,  which  he  would  give  to  no  person  living,  but  left  it  so  as 
not  to  be  inherited  till  after  the  second  generation.  His  connsel 
representing  to  him  how  many  years  it  must  be,  before  this  could 
take  effect,  and  that  his  money  could  only  lie  at  interest  all  that 
time,  he  expressed  great  joy  thereat,  and  said,  "  They  would  then 
be  as  long  in  spending,  as  he  had  been  in  getting  it."  But  the  Chan- 
cery afterwards  set  aside  the  will,  and  gave  it  to  the  heir-at-law.— 
Pope. 

1  Japhet  Crook,  alias  Sir  Peter  Stranger,  was  punished  with  the 
loss  of  those  parts,  for  having  forged  a  conveyance  of  an  estate  to 
himself,  upon  which  he  took  up  several  thousand  pounds.     He  was 
at  the  same  time  sued  in  Chancery  for  having  fraudulently  obtained 
a  will,  by  which  he  possessed  another  considerable  estate,  in  wrong 
of  the  brother  of  the  deceased.      By  these  means  he  was  worth  a 
great  sum,  which  (in  reward  for  the  small  loss  of  his  ears)  he  en- 
joyed in  prison  till  his  death,  and  quietly  left  to  his  executor.— Pope. 

2  A  famous  duchess  of  Richmond  in  her  last  will  left  considerable 
legacies  and  annuities  to  her  cats.— Pope.. 

This  duchess  of  Richmond  was  La  Belle  Stuart  of  the  Count  de 
Grammont's  memoirs.  She  left  annuities  to  certain  female  friends 
on  condition  that  they  took  care  of  her  cats.  "A  delicate  way," 
Warton  says,  "  of  providing  for  poor  but  proud  gentlewomen  with- 
out making  them  feel  that  they  owed  their  livelihood  to  her  mere 
liberality." 

3  This  epistle  was  written  in  the  year  1730,  when  a  corporation  was 
established  to  lend  money  to  the  poor  upon  pledges,  by  the  name  of 
the  Charitable  Corporation;  but  the  whole  was  turned  only  to  an 
iniquitous  method  of  enriching  particular  people,  to  the  ruin  of  such 
numbers,  that  it  became  a  parliamentary  concern  to  endeavour  the 
relief  of  those  unhappy  sufferers,  and  three  of  the   managers,  who 
were  members  of  the  house,  were  expelled.    By  the  report  of  the 
committee  appointed  to  inquire  into  that  iniquitous  affair,  it  ap- 
pears, that  when  it  was  objected  to  the  intended   removal  of  the 
office,  that  the  poor,  for  whose  use  it  was  erected,  would  be  hurt  by 

It,  Bond,  ene  of  the  directors,  replied,  "  D the   poor."    That 

''God  hates  the  poor,"  and  "  That  every  man  in  want  is  a  knave  or 
fool,"  &c.,  were  the  genuine  apothegms  of  some  of  the  persons  here 
mentioned . — Pope. 

«  fceattcote,  a  director  of  tfce.  Bank  of  England  at  that  time. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  245 

"  God  cannot  love  (says  Blunt,  with  tearless  eyes) 
The  wretch  he  starves" — and  piously  denies: 
But  the  good  bishop,  with  a  meeker  air, 
Admits,  and  leaves  them,  Providence's  care. 

Yet,  to  be  just  to  these  poor  men  of  pelf, 
Each  does  but  hate  his  neighbour  as  himself: 
Damned  to  the  mines,  an  equal  fate  betides 
The  slave  that  digs  it,  and  the  slave  that  hides. 

B.  Who  suffer  thus,  mere  charity  should  own, 
Must  act  on  motives  powerful,  though  unknown. 

P.  Some  war,  some  plague,  or  famine  they  foresee. 
Some  revelation  hid  from  you  and  me. 
Why  Shylock  wants  a  meal,  the  cause  is  found, 
He  thinks  a  loaf  will  rise  to  fifty  pound. 
What  made  directors  cheat  in  South-sea  year  ? 
To  live  on  venison  when  it  sold  so  dear.1 
Ask  you  why  Phryne  the  whole  auction  buys? 
Phryne  forsees  a  general  excise.2 
Why  she  and  Sappho  raise  that  monstrous  sum  ? 
Alas !  they  fear  a  man  will  cost  a  plum. 

Wise  Peter3  sees  the  world's  respect  for  gold, 
And  therefore  hopes  this  nation  may  be  sold: 
Glorious  ambition !  Peter,  swell  thy  store, 
And  be  what  Rome's  great  Didius*  was  before. 

The  crown  of  Poland,  venal  twice  an  age, 
To  just  three  millions  stinted  modest  Gage." 

1  In  the  extravagance  and  luxury  of  the  South-sea  year,  the  price 
of  a  haunch  of  veiisioii  was  from  three  to  five  pounds. — Pope. 

2  Many  people  about  the  year  1733,  had  a  conceit  that  such  a  thing 
was  intended,  of  which  it  is  not  improbable  this  lady  might  have 
some  intimation. — Pope. 

s  Peter  Walter,  a  person  not  only  eminent  in  the  wisdom  of  his 
profession,  as  a  dextrous  attorney,  but  allowed  to  bo  a  good,  if  not  a 
safe  conveyancer ;  extremely  respected  by  the  nobility  of  this  land, 
though  free  from  all  manner  of  luxury  and  ostentation :  his  wealth 
was  never  seen,  and  his  bounty  never  heard  of,  except  to  his  own  son, 
for  whom  he  procured  an  employment  of  considerable  profit,  of 
which  he  gave  him  as  much  as  was  necessary.  Therefore  the  taxing 
this  gentleman  with  any  ambition,  is  certainly  a  great  wrong  to  him. 
—Pope, 

Peter  Walter  was  steward  to  the  duke  of  Newcastle  and  other 
noblemen.  He  acquired  an  immense  fortune,  represented  Bridport 
in  Parliament,  and  died  1745,  astat.  83.  He  is  supposed  to  have  been 
the  original  of  Fielding's  important  "  Peter  Pounce."  He  was  a 
notorious  miser,  and  very  cunning.  Peter  Walter  is  said  to  have 
been  the  hero  of  the  well-known  story  of  the  "  Miser  and  the  Candle." 

4  A.  Roman  lawyer,  so  rich  as  to  purchase  the  empire  when  it  was 
set  10  sale  upon  the  death  of  Pertinax. — Pope. 

5  Modest  Gage  was  brother  of  the  first  Viscount  Gage,  and  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  brother  also  to  Pope's  "  Unfortunate  Lady." 


246  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

But  nobler  scenes  Maria's  dreams  unfold,6 
Hereditary  realms,  and  worlds  of  gold. 
Congenial  souls !  whose  life  one  avarice  joins, 
And  one  fate  buries  in  the  Asturian  mines. 

Much  injured  Blunt!2  why  bears  he  Britain's  hate  ? 
A  wizard  told  him  in  these  words  our  fate: 
"At  length  corruption,  like  a  general  flood, 
(So  long  by  watchful  ministers  withstood) 
Shall  deluge  all;  and  av'rice,  creeping  on, 
Spread  like  a  low-born  mist,  and  blot  the  sun; 
Statesman  and  patriot  ply  alike  the  stocks, 
Peeress  and  butler  share  alike  the  box, 
And  judges  job,  and  bishops  bite  the  town, 
And  mighty  dukes  pack  cards  for  half  a  crown. 
See  Britain  sunk  in  lucre's  sordid  charms, 
And  France  revenged  on  Anne's  and  Edward's  arms  ?" 
'Twas  no  court-badge,  great  scriv'ner !  fired  thy  brain, 
Nor  lordly  luxury,  nor  city  gain: 
No,  'twas  thy  righteous  end,  ashamed  to  see 
Senates  degenerate,  patriots  disagree, 
And,  nobly  wishing  party  rage  to  cease, 
To  buy  both  sides,  and  give  thy  country  peace. 

"All  this  is  madness,"  cries  a  sober  sage: 
But  who,  my  friend,  has  reason  in  his  rage  ? 
"  The  ruling  passion,  be  it  what  it  will, 
"  The  ruling  passion  conquers  reason  still/' 
Less  mad  the  wildest  whimsy  we  can  frame, 
Than  ev'n  that  passion,  if  it  has  no  aim; 
For  though  such  motives  folly  you  may  call, 

»  "Maria"  was  Lady  Mary  Herbert,  the  daughter  of  the  Marquis 
of  Powis.  Her  mother  was  an  illegitimate  daughter  of  James  II., 
lience  her  vision  of  a  crown. 

The  two  persons  here  mentioned  were  of  quality,  each  of  whom  in 
the  Mississippi  despised  to  realise  above  three  hundred  thousand 
pounds ;  the  gentleman  with  a  view  to  the  purchase  of  the  crown  of 
Poland,  the  lady  on  a  vision  of  the  like  royal  nature  of  the  crown  of 
England.  They  since  retired  into  Spain,  where  they  are  still  in 
search  of  gold  in  the  mines  of  the  Asturies.— Pope. 

2  Sir  John  Blunt,  originally  a  scrivener,  was  one  of  the  first  pro- 
jectors of  the  South-sea  Company,  and  afterwards  one  of  the  direc- 
tors and  chief  managers  of  the  famous  scheme  in  1720.  He  was  also 
one  of  those  who  suffered  most  severely  by  the  bill  of  pains  and 
penalties  on  the  said  directors.  He  was  a  dissenter  of  a  most  re- 
ligious deportment,  and  professed  to  be  a  great  believer.  Whether 
he  did  really  credit  the  prophecy  here  mentioned  is  not  certain,  but 
it  was  constantly  in  this  very  style  he  declaimed  against  the  corrup- 
tion and  luxury  of  the  age,  the  partiality  of  parliaments,  and  the 
misery  of  party -spirit.  He  was  particularly  eloquent  against  avarice 
in  great  and  noble  persons,  of  which  he  had  indeed  lived  to  see  many 
miserable  examples.  He  died  in  the  year  1732.— Pope. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  247 

The  folly's  greater  to  have  none  at  all.  [sends, 

Hear  then  the  truth:    "'Tis  Heav'n  each  passion 
And  dift'rent  men  directs  to  diff 'rent  ends. 
Extremes  in  nature  equal  good  produce, 
Extremes  in  man  concur  to  gen'ral  use." 
Ask  we  what  makes  one  keep,  and  one  bestow? 
That  Pow'r  who  bids  the  ocean  ebb  and  flow, 
Bids  seed-time,  harvest,  equal  course  maintain, 
Through  reconciled  extremes  of  drought  and  rain, 
Builds  life  on  death,  on  change  duration  founds, 
And  gives  th'  eternal  wheels  to  know  their  rounds. 

Riches,  like  insects,  when  concealed  they  lie, 
Wait  but  for  wings,  and  in  their  season  fly. 
Who  sees  pale  Mammon  pine  amidst  his  store, 
Sees  but  a-  backward  steward  for  the  poor; 
This  year  a  reservoir,  to  keep  and  spare; 
The  next,  a  fountain,  spouting  through  his  heir, 
In  lavish  streams  to  quench  a  country's  thirst, 
And  men  and  dogs  shall  drink  him  till  they  burst. 

Old  Cotta  shamed  his  fortune  and  his  birth 
Yet  was  not  Cotta  void  of  wit  or  worth: 
What  though  (the  use  of  barbarous  spits  forgot) 
His  kitchen  vied  in  coolness  with  his  grot  ? 
His  court  with  nettles,  moats  with  cresses  stored, 
With  soups  unbought  and  salads  blessed  his  board  ? 
If  Cotta  lived  on  pulse,  it  was  no  more 
Than  Brahmins,  saints,  and  sages  did  before; 
To  cram  the  rich  was  prodigal  expense, 
And  who  would  take  the  poor  from  Providence? 
Like  some  lone  Chartreux  stands  the  good  old  hall, 
Silence  without,  and  fasts  within  the  wall; 
No  raftered  roofs  with  dance  and  tabor  sound, 
No  noon-tide  bell  invites  the  country  round; 
Tenants  with  sighs  the  smokeless  towers  survey, 
And  turn  the  unwilling  steeds  another  way; 
Benighted  wanderers,  the  forest  o'er, 
Curse  the  saved  candle,  and  unop'ning  door; 
While  the  gaunt  mastiff  growling  at  the  gate, 
Affrights  the  beggar  whom  he  longs  to  eat. 

Not  so  his  son;  he  marked  this  oversight, 
And  then  mistook  reverse  of  wrong  for  right. 
(For  what  to  shun  will  no  great  knowledge  need; 
But  what  to  follow,  is  a  task  indeed.) 
Yet  sure,  of  qualities  deserving  praise, 


248  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

More  go  to  ruin  fortunes,  than  to  raise. 
What  slaughtered  hecatombs,  what  floods  of  wine, 
Fill  the  capacious  squire,  and  deep  divine ! 
Yet  no  mean  motive  this  profusion  draws, 
His  oxen  perish  in  his  country's  cause; 
'Tis  George  and  liberty  that  crowns  the  cup, 
And  zeal  for  that  great  house  which  eats  him  up. 
The  woods  recede  around  the  naked  seat; 
The  Sylvans  groan — no  matter — for  the  fleet; 
Next  goes  his  wool — to  clothe  our  valiant  bands; 
Last,  for  his  country's  love,  he  sells  his  lands. 
To  town  he  comes,  completes  the  nation's  hope, 
And  heads  the  bold  train-bands,  and  burns  a  pope.1 
And  shall  not  Britain  now  reward  his  toils, 
Britain,  that  pays  her  patriots  with  her  spoils  ? 
In  vain  at  court  the  bankrupt  pleads  his  cause, 
His  thankless  country  leaves  him  to  her  laws. 

The  sense  to  value  riches,  with  the  art 
To  enjoy  them,  and  the  virtue  to  impart, 
Not  meanly,  nor  ambitiously  pursued, 
Not  sunk  by  sloth,  nor  raised  by  servitude: 
To  balance  fortune  by  a  just  expense, 
Join  with  economy,  magnificence; 
With  splendour,  charity:  with  plenty,  health, 
O  teach  us,  Bathurst !  yet  unspoiled  by  wealth ! 
That  secret  rare,  between  the  extremes  to  move 
Of  mad  good-nature,  and  of  mean  self-love. 

B.  To    worth   or   want  well-weighed,  be  bounty 

giv'n, 

And  ease,  or  emulate,  the  care  of  Heav'n; 
(Whose  measure  full  o'erflows  on  human  race) 
Mend  Fortune's  fault,  and  justify  her  grace. 
Wealth  in  the  gross  is  death,  but  life  diffused; 
As  poison  heals,  in  just  proportion  used: 
In  heaps,  like  ambergrise,  a  stink  it  lies, 
But  well-dispersed,  is  incense  to  the  skies. 

P.  Who  starves  by  nobles,  or  with  nobles  eats  ? 
The  wretch  that  trusts  them,  and  the   rogue  that 

cheats. 

Is  there  a  lord,  who  knows  a  cheerful  noon 
Without  a  fiddler,  flatt'rer,  or  buffoon? 
Whose  table,  wit,  or  modest  merit  share, 

1  A  common  mode  of  the  lower  class  at  that  time  of  expressing 
their  hatred  of  Popery.— Bowles. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  249 

Unelbowed  by  a  gamester,  pimp,  or  play'r? 
Who  copies  yours  or  Oxford's  better  part,1 
To  ease  the  oppressed,  and  raise  the  sinking  heart? 
Where'er  he  shines,  oh  fortune,  gild  the  scene, 
And  angels  guard  him  in  the  golden  mean! 
There,  English  bounty  yet  awhile  may  stand, 
And  honour  linger  ere  it  leaves  the  land. 

But  all  our  praises  why  should  lords  engross  ? 
Rise,  honest  muse !  and  sing  the  Man  of  Boss;2 
Pleased  Vaga  echoes  through  her  winding  bounds,3 
And  rapid  Severn  hoarse  applause  resounds. 
Who  hung  with  woods  yon  mountain's  sultry  brow  2 
From  the  dry  rock  who  bade  the  waters  flow  ? 
Not  to  the  skies  in  useless  columns  tost, 
Or  in  proud  falls  magnificently  lost, 
But  clear  and  artless,  pouring  through  the  plain 
Health  to  the  sick,  and  solace  to  the  swain. 
Whose  causeway  parts  the  vale  with  shady  rows? 
Whose  seats  the  weary  traveller  repose  ? 
Who  taught  that  heav'n-directed  spire  to  rise  ? 
"  The  Man  of  Boss,"  each  lisping  babe  replies. 
Behold  the  market-place  with  poor  o'erspread ! 
The  Man  of  Boss  divides  the  weekly  bread; 
He  feeds  yon  alms-house,  neat,  but  void  of  state, 
Where  Age  and  Want  sit  smiling  at  the, gate; 
Him  portioned  maids,  apprenticed  orphans  blest, 
The  young  who  labour,  and  the  old  who  rest. 
Is  any  sick?  the  Man  of  Boss  relieves, 
Prescribes,  attends,  the  med'cine  makes,  and  gives. 
Is  there  a  variance  ?  enter  but  his  door, 
Balked  are  the  courts,  and  contest  is  no  more. 
Despairing  quacks  with  curses  fled  the  place, 
And  vile  attorneys,  now  a  useless  race. 

1  Edward  Harley,  Earl  of  Oxford.      The  son  of  Robert,  created 
Earl  of  Oxford  and  Earl  Mortimer  by  Queen  Anne.      This  nobleman 
died  regretted  by  all  men  of  letters,  great  numbers  of  whom  had  ex- 
perienced his  benefits.    He  left  behind  him  one  of  the  most  noble 
libraries  in  Europe.— Pope. 

2  The  person  here  celebrated,  who  with  a  small  estate  actually 
performed  all  these  good  works,  and  whose  true  name  was  almost 
lost  (partly  by  the  title  of  the  Man  of  Ross  given  him  by  way  of  emi- 
nence, and  partly  by  being  buried  without  so  much  as  an  inscrip- 
tion) was  called  Mr.  John  Kyrle.     He  died  in  the  year  1724,  aged  90, 
and  lies  interred  in  the  chancel  of  the  church  of  Ross  in  Hereford- 
shire.—.Pope.    Two  elms  said  to  have  been  planted  by  the  Man  of 
Ross,  were  cut  down,  but  have  since  appeared  inside  t^ 

where  they  now  grow, 

»  Tfce  Wye, 


250  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

B.  Thrice  happy  man  !  enabled  to  pursue 
What  all  so  wish,  but  want  the  pow'r  to  do  ! 
Oh  say,  what  sums  that  generous  hand  supply? 
What  mines,  to  swell  that  boundless  charity  ? 

P.  Of  debts,  and  taxes,  wife  and  children  clear, 
This  man  possessed  —  five  hundred  pounds  a  year. 
Blush,  grandeur,  blush  !  proud  courts,  withdraw  your 

blaze  ! 
Ye  little  stars  !  hide  your  diminished  rays. 

B.  And  what  ?  no  monument,  inscription,  stone  ? 
His  race,  his  form,  his  name  almost  unknown  ? 

P.  Who  builds  a  church  to  God,  and  not  to  fame. 
Will  n^ver  mark  the  marble  with  his  name  : 
Go,  search  it  there,1  where  to  be  born  and  die, 
Of  rich  and  poor  makes  all  the  history; 
Enough,  that  virtue  filled  the  space  between; 
Proved,  by  the  ends  of  being,  to  have  been. 
When  Hopkins  dies,2  a  thousand  lights  attend 
The  wretch,  who  living  saved  a  candle's  end: 
Should'ring  God's  altar  a  vile  image  stands, 
Belies  his  features,  nay  extends  his  hands; 
That  live-long  wig  which  Gorgon's  self  might  own, 
Eternal  buckle  takes  in  Parian  stone.3 
Behold  what  blessings  wealth  to  life  can  lend  ! 
And  see,  what  comfort  it  affords  our  end. 

In  the  worst  inn's  worst  room,  with  mat  half-hung 
The  floors  of  plaister,  and  the  walls  of  dung, 
On  once  a  flock-bed,  but  repaired  with  straw, 
With  tape-tied  curtains,  never  meant  to  draw, 
The  George  and  Garter  dangling  from  that  bed 
Where  tawdry  yellow  strove  with  dirty  red, 
Great  Villiers  lies4  —  alas  !  how  changed  from  him, 
That  life  of  pleasure,  and  that  soul  of  whim  ! 
Gallant  and  gay,  in  Cliveden's5  proud  alcove, 

1  In  the  Parish  Register. 

2  Vulture  Hopkins,  mentioned  at  line  85. 

3  The  poet  ridicules  the  wretched  taste  of  carving  large  periwigs  on 
bustos,  of  which  there  are  several  vile  examples  m  the  tombs  at  West- 
minster and  elsewhere.— 


4  This  lord,  yet  more  famous  for  his  vices  than  his  misfortunes,  after 
having  been  possessed  of  about  £50,000  a  year,  and  passed  through 
many  of  the  highest  posts  i     the  kingdom,  died  in  the  year  1687,  in  a 
remote  inn  in  Yorkshire,  reduced  to  the  utmost  misery.—  Pope. 

5  A  delightful  palace,  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  built  by  the  Pukf 
of  Buckingham.  —  Pope, 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  251 

The  bower  of  wanton  Shrewsbury1  and  love; 

Or  just  as  gay,  at  council,  in  a  ring 

Of  mimicked  statesmen,  and  their  merry  king. 

No  wit  to  flatter  left  of  all  his  store ! 

No  fool  to  laugh  at,  which  he  valued  more. 

There,  victor  of  his  health,  of  fortune,  friends, 

And  fame,  this  lord  of  useless  thousands  ends. 

His  grace's  fate  sage  Cutler2  could  forsee, 
And  well  (he  thought)  advised  him,  "Live  like  me." 
As  well  his  grace  replied,  "  Like  you,  Sir  John  ? 
That  I  can  do,  when  all  I  have  is  gone." 
Resolve  me,  reason,  which  of  these  is  worse, 
Want  with  a  full,  or  with  an  empty  purse  ? 
Thy  life  more  wretched,  Cutler,  was  confessed, 
Arise,  and  tell  me,  was  thy  death  more  blessed? 
Cutler  saw  tenants  break,  and  houses  fall, 
For  very  want;  he  could  not  build  a  wall 
His  only  daughter  in  a  stranger's  pow'r, 
For  very  want;  he  could  not  pay  a  dow'r. 
A  few  grey  hairs  his  rev'rend  temples  crowned, 
'Twas  very  want  that  sold  them  for  two  pound. 
"What  ev'n  denied  a  cordial  at  his  end, 
Banished  the  doctor,  and  expeUed  the  friend? 
What  but  a  want,  which  you  perhaps  think  mad, 
Yet  numbers  feel,  the  want  of  what  he  had ! 
Cutler  and  Brutus,  dying,  both  exclaim, 
"  Virtue !  and  wealth !  what  are  ye  but  a  name !" 

Say,  for  such  worth  are  other  worlds  prepared ! 
Or  are  they  both,  in  this,  their  own  reward  ? 
A  knotty  point !  to  which  we  now  proceed. 
But  you  are  tired — I'll  teU  a  tale —  B.  Agreed. 

P.  Where  London's  column,*  pointing  at  the  skies 
Like  a  tall  bully,  lifts  the  head,  and  lies; 
There  dwelt  a  citizen  of  sober  fame, 
A  plain  good  man,  and  Balaam  was  his  name; 
Religious,  punctual,  frugal,  and  so  forth; 
His  word  would  pass  for  more  than  he  was  worth. 

1  The  Countess  of  Shrewsbury,  a  woman  abandoned  to  gallantries. 
The  earl,  her  husband,   was  killed  by   the  Duke  of  Buckingham  i» 
a  duel ;    and  it  has  been  said,  that  during  the  combat  she  held   the 
duke's  horses  in  the  habit  of  a  page. — Pope. 

2  Sir  John  Cutler,  a  rich  London  citizen. 

3  The  monument  on  Fish  Street  Hill,  built  in  memory  of  the  fire  of 
London,  of  1(566,  with  an  inscription,  importing  that  city  to  have  been 
burut  by  the  papists.— Pope. 


252  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

One  solid  dish  his  week-day  meal  affords, 
An  added  pudding  solemnised  the  Lord's: 
Constant  at  church,  and  change;  his  gains  were  sure, 
His  givings  rare,  save  farthings  to  the  poor. 

The  dev'l  was  piqued  such  saintship  to  behold, 
And  longed  to  tempt  him  like  good  Job  of  old: 
But  Satan  now  is  wiser  than  of  yore, 
And  tempts  by  making  rich,  not  making  poor. 

Boused  by  the  Prince  of  Air,  the  whirlwinds  sweep 
The  surge,  and  plunge  his  father  in  the  deep; 
Then  full  against  his  Cornish1  lands  they  roar, 
And  two  rich  shipwrecks  bless  the  lucky  shore. 

Sir  Balaam  now,  he  lives  like  other  folks, 
He  takes  his  chirping  pint,  and  cracks  his  jokes; 
"Live  like  yourself,"  was  soon  my  lady's  word; 
And  lo !  two  puddings  smoked  upon  the  board. 

Asleep  and  naked  as  an  Indian  lay, 
An  honest  factor  stole  a  gem  away: 
He  pledged  it  to  the  knight;  the  knight  had  wit, 
So  kept  the  di'mond,  and  the  rogue  was  bit. 
Some  scruple  rose,  but  thus  he  eased  his  thought, 
"  I'll  now  give  sixpence  where  I  gave  a  groat; 
Where  once  I  went  to  church,  I'll  now  go  twice — 
And  am  so  clear  too  of  all  other  vice." 

The  tempter  saw  his  time;  the  work  he  plied; 
Stocks  and  subscriptions  poured  on  ev'ry  side, 
Till  all  the  demon  makes  his  full  descent 
In  one  abundant  show'r  of  cent,  per  cent., 
Sinks  deep  within  him,  and  possesses  whole, 
Then  dubs  Director,  and  secures  his  soul, 

Behold  Sir  Balaam,  now  a  man  of  spirit, 
Ascribes  his  gettings  to  his  parts  and  merit: 
What  late  he  called  a  blessing,  now  was  wit, 
And  God's  good  providence,  a  lucky  hit. 
Things  change  their  titles,  as  our  manners  turn: 
His  counting-house  employed  the  Sunday  morn; 
Seldom  at  church  ('twas  such  a  busy  life) 
But  duly  sent  his  family  and  wife. 

1  The  author  has  placed  the  scene  of  these  shipwrecks  in  Cornwall, 
not  only  from  their  frequency  on  that  coast,  but  from  the  inhumanity 
of  the  inhabitants  to  those  to  whom  that  misfortune  arrives.  When 
a  ship  happens  to  be  stranded  there,  they  have  been  known  to  bore 
holes  in  it,  to  prevent  its  getting  off;  to  plunder,  and  sometimes  even 
to  massacre  the  people:  nor  has  the  Parliament  of  England  been  yet 
ftbl$  wholly  to  suppress  these  barbarities.— Pope, 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  253 

There  (so  the  devl  ordained)  one  Christmas-tide 
My  good  old  lady  catched  a  cold  and  died. 
A  nymph  of  quality  admires  our  knight; 
He  marries,  bows  at  court,  and  grows  polite: 
Leaves  the  dull  cits,  and  joins  (to  please  the  fair) 
The  well-bred  cuckolds  in  St.  James's  air: 
First,  for  his  son  a  gay  commission  buys,  • 

Who  drinks,  w ,  fights,  and  in  a  duel  dies: 

His  daughter  flaunts  a  viscount's  tawdry  wife; 

She  bears  a  coronet  and  p —  for  life. 

In  Britain's  senate  he  a  seat  obtains, 

And  one  more  pensioner  St.  Stephen  gains.1 

My  lady  falls  to  play;  so  bad  her  chance, 

He  must  repair  it;    takes  a  bribe  from  France; 

The  House  impeach  him;  Coningsby  harangues; 

The  court  forsake  him,  and  Sir  Balaam  hangs: 

Wife,  son,  and  daughter,  Satan !  are  thy  own, 

His  wealth,  yet  dearer,  forfeit  to  the  crown: 

The  devil  and  the  king  divide  the  prize, 

And  sad  Sir  Baalam  curses  God  and  dies. 


EPISTLE  IV.1 

TO 

RICHABD   BOYLE,  EABL   OF  BURLINGTON.9 
ARGUMENT. 

OF  THE  USE  OF  RICHES. 

The  vanity  of  expense  in  people  of  wealth  and  quality.  The  abuse 
of  the  word  taste,  ver.  13.  That  the  first  principle  and  founda- 
tion, in  this  as  in  everything  else,  is  good  sense,  ver.  40.  The 
chief  proof  of  it  is  to  follow  nature  even  in  works  of  mere  luxury 
and  elegance.  Instanced  in  architecture  and  gardening,  where 
all  must  be  adapted  to  the  genius  and  use  of  the  place,  and  the 
beauties  not  forced  into  it,  but  resulting  from  it,  ver.  50.  How 
men  are  disappointed  in  their  most  expensive  undertakings, 

1  — atque  unum  civem  donare  Sibyllas. 
JUV.  iii.  3.—  Warburton. 

1  This  Epistle  was  written  and  published  before  the  preceding 
one,  and  the  placing  it  after  the  third  has  occasioned  some  awkward 
anachronisms  and  inconsistences—  Warton. 

2  Lord  Burlington  was  famed   for  his  taste  in  architecture.    His 
house  in  Piccadilly  was  greatly  lauded  by  Horace  Walpolo.    Burling- 
ton House  has  now  given  way  to  the  Koyal  Academy  buildings,  &c. 


254  MOEAL  ESSAYS. 

for  want  of  this  true  foundation,  without  which  nothing  can 
please  long,  if  at  all;  and  the  best  examples  and  rules  will  but 
be  perverted  into  something  burdensome  and  ridiculous,  ver.  65, 
&c.,  to  92.  A  description  of  the  false  taste  of  magnificence ;  the  ' 
first  grand  error  of  which  is  to  imagine  that  greatness  consists 
in  the  size  and  dimension,  instead  of  the  proportion  and  har- 
mony of  the  whole,  ver.  97,  and  the  second,  either  in  joining  to- 
gether parts  incoherent,  or  too  minutely  resembling,  or  in  the 
repitition  of  the  same  too  frequently,  ver.  105,  &c.  A  word  or 
two  of  false  taste  in  books,  in  music,  in  painting,  even  in  preach- 
ing and  prayer,  and  lastly  in  entertainments,  ver.  133,  &c.  Yet 
Providence  is  justified  in  giving  wealth  to  be  squandered  in  this 
__^-manner,  since  it  is  dispersed  to  the  poor  and  laborious  part  of 
mankind,  ver.  169.  What  are  the  proper  objects  of  magnificence, 
and  a  proper  field  for  the  expense  of  great  men,  ver.  177,  &c., 
and  finally,  the  great  and  public  works  which  become  a  prince, 
ver,  191,  to  the  end. 

'Tis  strange,  the  miser  should  his  cares  employ 
To  gain  those  riches  he  can  ne'er  enjoy, 
Is  it  less  strange,  the  prodigal  should  waste 
His  wealth  to  purchase  what  he  ne'er  can  taste  ? 
Not  for  himself  he  sees,  or  hears,  or  eats; 
Artists  must  choose  his  pictures,  music,  meats: 
He  buys  for  Topham,1  drawings  and  designs, 
For  Pembroke,  statues,  dirty  gods,  and  coins; 
Rare  monkish  manuscripts  for  Hearne2  alone, 
And  books  for  Mead,  and  butterflies  for  Sloane.8 
Think  we  all  these  are  for  himself  ?  no  more 

Than  his  fine  wife,  alas !  or  finer  w 

For  what  has  Yirro  painted,  built,  and  planted  ? 
Only  to  show,  how  many  tastes  he  wanted. 
What  brought  Sir  Visto's  ill  got  wealth  to  waste  ? 
Some  demon  whispered,  "  Visto !   have  a  taste." 
Heav'n  visits  with  a  taste  the  wealthy  fool, 
And  needs  no  rod  but  Ripley4  with  a  rule. 
See !  sportive  fate,  to  punish  awkward  pride, 
Bids  Bubo6  build,  and  sends  him  such  a  guide: 
A  standing  sermon,  at  each  year's  expense, 
That  never  coxcomb  reached  magnificence ! 

1  A  gentleman  famous  for  a  judicious  collection  of  drawings.— 
Pope. 

2  Thomas  Hearne,  well  known  as  an  antiquarian.— Pope. 

3  Two  eminent  physicians ;  the  one  had  an  excellent  library,  the 
other  the  finest  collection  in  Europe  of  natural  curiosities :  both 
men  of  great  learning  and  humanity.— Pope. 

4  This  man  was  a  carpenter,  employed  by  a  first  minister,  who 
raised  him  to  an  architect,  without  any  genius  in  the  art ;  and  after 
some  wretched  proofs  of  his  insufficiency  in  public  buildings  made 
him  comptroller  of  the  Board  of  Works.— Pope. 

•  He  means  Bubb  Doddington's  magnificent  palace  at  Eastbury, 
Hoar  Blan«ifoiM,  which  he  had  just  finished.— Bowks. 


MORAL  ASSAYS,  255 

You  show  us,  Rome  was  glorious,  not  profuse,1 
And  pompous  buildings  once  were  things  of  use. 
'  Yet  shall,  my  lord,  your  just,  your  noble  rules 
|  Fill  half  the  land  with  imitating-fools; 
Who  random  drawings  from  your  sheets  shall  take, 
And  of  one  beauty  many  blunders  make; 
Load  some  vain  church  with  old  theatric  state, 
Turn  arcs  of  triumph  to  a  garden-gate; 
Reverse  your  ornaments,  and  hang  them  all 
On  some  patched  dog-hole  eked  with  ends  of  wall; 
Then  clap  four  slices  of  pilaster  on't, 
"That,  laced  with  bits  of  rustic,  makes  a  front. 
Shall  call  the  winds  through  long  arcades  to  roar, 
Proud  to  catch  cold  at  a  Venetian  door; 
Conscious  they  act  a  true  Palladian  part, 
And,  if  they  starve,  they  starve  by  rules  of  art. 

Oft  have  you  hinted  to  your  brother  peer 
A  certain  truth,  which  many  buy  too  dear: 
Something  there  is  more  needful  than  expense, 
And  something  previous  ev'n  to  taste — 'tis  senses 
GLQodsensjBr  which  only  is  the  gift  of  Heaven, 
AndtEough  no  science,  fairly  worth  the  seven* 
A  light,  which  in  yourself  you  must  perceive; 
Jones  and  Le  Notre2  have  it  not  to  give. 

To  build,  to  plant,  whatever  you  intend, 
To  rear  the  column,  or  the  arch  to  bend, 
To  swell  the  terrace,  or  to  sink  the  grot; 
In  all,  let  nature  never  be  forgot. 
But  treat  the  goddess  like  a  modest  fair, 
Nor  over-dress,  nor  leave  her  wholly  bare; 
Let  not  each  beauty  ev'ry  where  be  spied, 
Where  half  the  skill  is  decently  to  hide. 
He  gains  all  points,  who  pleasingly  confounds, 
Surprises,  varies,  and  conceals  the  bounds. 

Consult  the  genius  of  the  place  in  all; 
That  tells  the  waters  or  to  rise,  or  fall; 
Or  helps  the  ambitious  hill  the  heav'ns  to  scale, 
Or  scoops  in  circling  theatres  the  vale ; 
Calls  in  the  country,  catches  op'iiing  glades, 

1  The  Earl  of  Burlington  was  then  publishing  the  Designs  of  Inigo 
Jones,  and  the  Antiquities  of  Rome  by  Palladio. — Pope 

2  Inigo  Jones.    "  Le  Notre,"  says  Walpole,  "was  the  architect  of 
the  groves  and  grottoes  of  Versailles.    He  came  hither  on  a  mission 
to  improve  our  taste.    He  planted  St.  James's  and  Greenwich  Parks ; 
no  great  monuments  of  his  invention." 


256  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

Joins  willing  woods,  and  varies  shades  from  shades; 
Now  breaks,  or  now  directs,  th'  intending  lines; 
Paints  as  you  plant,  and,  as  you  work,  designs. 

Still  follow  sense,  of  ev'ry  art  the  soul, 
Parts  answ'ring  parts  shall  slide  into  a  whole, 
Spontaneous  beauties  all  around  advance, 
Start  ev'n  from  difficulty,  strike  from  chance; 
Nature  shall  join  you;  time  shall  make  it  grow 
*  A  work  to  wonder  at— perhaps  a  Stowe.1 

Without  it,  proud  Versailles !  thy  glory  falls; 
And  Nero's  terraces  desert  their  walls: 
The  vast  parterres  a  thousand  hands  shall  make, 
Lo !  Cobham2  comes,  and  floats  them  with  a  lake 
Or  cut  wide  views  through  mountains  to  the  plain, 
You'll  wish  your  hill  or  sheltered  seat  again.3 
Even  in  an  ornament  its  place  remark, 
Nor  in  a  hermitage  set  Dr.  Clarke.4 

Behold  Villario's  ten  years'  toil  complete; 
His  quincunx  darkens,  his  espaliers  meet; 
The  woods  supports  the  plain,  the  parts  unite, 
And  strength  of  shade  contends  with  strength   of 

light; 

A  waving  glow  the  bloomy  beds  display, 
Blushing  in  bright  diversities  of  day, 
With  silver-quiv'ring  rills  meandered  o'er — 
Enjoy  them,  you!  Yillario  can  no  more; 
Tired  of  the  scene  parterres  and  fountains  yield, 
He  finds  at  last  he  better  likes  a  field.  [strayed, 

Through  his  young  woods  how  pleased  Sabinus 
Or  sat  delighted  in  the  thick'ning  shade, 
With  annual  joy  the  redd'ning  shoots  to  greet, 
Or  see  the  stretching  branches  long  to  meet  i 
His  son's  fine  taste  an  op'ner  vista  loves, 
Foe  to  the  Dryads  of  his  father's  groves; 

1  The  seat  and  gardens  of  the  Lord  Viscount  Cobham  in  Bucking- 
hamshire.— Pope. 

2  Viscount  Cobham.    His  seat  was  Stowe,  in  Bucks,  once  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

3  This  was  done  in  Hertfordshire,  by  a  wealthy  citizen,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  above  £5000,  by  which  means  (merely  to  overlook  a  dead 
plain)  he  let  in  the  north  wind  upon  his  house  and  parterre,  which 
were  before  adorned  and  defended  by  beautiful  woods.—  Pope. 

4  Dr.  S.  Clarke's  busto  placed  by  the  Queen  in  the  hermitage, 
while  the  Doctor  duly  frequented  the  Court.— Pope.      Pope  disliked 
Dr.  Clarke  because  he  was  a  favourite  of  Queen  Caroline's,  and  the 
opinions  he  was  supposed  to  hold  were  not  orthodox. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  257 

One  boundless  green,  or  flourished  carpet  views,1 
With  all  the  mournful  family  of  yews;2 
The  thriving  plants  ignoble  broomsticks  made, 
Now  sweep  those  alleys  they  were  born  to  shade. 

At  Timon's  villa3  let  us  pass  a  day, 
Wliere  all  cry  out,  "  What  sums  are  thrown  away !" 
*  So  proud,  so  grand;  of  that  stupendous  air, 
Soft  and  agreeable  come  never  there. 
Greatness,  with  Timon,  dwells  in  such  a  draugh 
As  brings  all  Brobdignag  before  your  thought. 
To  compass  this,  his  building  is  a  town, 
His  pond  an  ocean,  his  parterre  a  down: 
Who  but  must  laugh,  the  master  when  he  sees, 
A  puny  insect,  shivering  at  a  breeze ! 
^  Lo,  what  huge  heaps  of  littleness  around ! 
The  whole,  a  laboured  quarry  above  ground; 
Two  cupids  squirt  before;  a  lake  behind 
Improves  the  keenness  of  the  northern  wind. 
His  gardens  next  your  admiration  call, 
On  every  side  you  look,  behold  the  wall ! 
No  pleasing  intricacies  intervene, 
!  No  artful  wildness  to  perplex  the  scene : 
Grove  nods  at  grove,  each  alley  has  a  brother, 
And  half  the  platform  just  reflects  the  other. 
The  suff' ring  eye  inverted  nature  sees, 
Trees  cut  to  statues,  statues  thick  as  trees; 
With  here  a  fountain,  never  to  be  played; 
And  there  a  summer-house,  that  knows  no  shade; 
Here  Amphiirite  sails  through  myrtle  bowers; 
There  gladiators1  fight  or  die  in  flowers; 
Unwatered  see  the  drooping  sea-horse  mourn, 

1  The  two  extremes  in  parterres,  which  are  equally  faulty;  a 
boundless  green,  large  and  naked  as  a  field,  or  a  nourished  carpet, 
where  the  greatness  and  nobleness  of  the  piece  is  lessened  by  being 
divided  into  too  many  parts,  with  scrolled  works  and  beds,  of  which 
the  examples  are  frequent.— Pope. 

2  Touches  upon  the  ill  taste  of  those  who  are  so  fond  of  evergreens 
(particularly  yews,  which  are  the  most  tonsile)  as  to  destroy  tho 
nobler  forest-trees,  to  make  way  for  such  little  ornaments  as  pyra- 
mids of  dark-green  continually  repeated,  not  unlike  a  funeral  pro- 
cession.— Pope. 

3  This  description  is  intended  to  comprise  the  principles  of  a  false 
taste  of  magnificence,  and  to  exemplify  what  was  said  before,   tli;:t 
nothing  but  good  sense  can  attain  it.— Pope.      This  was  said  to  Imvo 
been  meant  for  the  place  of  the  Duke  of  Chandos;  but  Pope   po.s;- 
tively  asserts,  in  a  note  at  Essay  III.,  that  Timon  was  not  meant  lor 
his  friend. 

1  The  two  statues  of.  the  Gladiator  pugnans  and    Gladiator  mortens,— 


258  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

And  swallows  roost  in  Nilus'  dusty  urn. 
My  lord  advances  with  majestic  mien, 
Smit  with  the  mighty  pleasure,  to  be  seen: 
But  soft,  —  by  regular  approach,  —  not  yet,  — 
First,  through  the  length  of  yon  hot  terrace  sweat;1 
And  when  up  ten  steep  slopes  you've  dragged  your 

thighs, 
Just  at  his  study-door  he'll  bless  yonr  eyes. 

His  study  !  with  what  authors  is  he  stored  ?2 
^^  In  books,  not  authors,  curious  is  my  lord; 
To  all  their  dated  backs  he  turns  you  round: 
These  Aldus  printed,  those  Du  Sueil  has  bound. 
Lo,  some  are  vellum,  and  the  rest  as  good, 
For  all  his  lordship  knows,  but  they  are  wood. 
/  For  Locke  or  Milton  'tis  in  vain  to  look, 
^\  These  shelves  admit  not  any  modern  book. 

And  now  the  chapel's  silver  bell  you  hear, 
-^  That  summons  you  to  all  the  pride  of  pray'r:3 
Light  quirks  of  music,  broken  and  uneven, 
Make'  the  soul  dance  upon  a  jig  to  heaven: 
*.     On  painted  ceilings4  you  devoutly  stare, 

Where  sprawl  the  saints  of  Verrio  or  Laguerre* 
On  gilded  clouds  in  fair  expansion  lie, 
And  bring  all  paradise  before  your  eye. 
To  rest,  the  cushion  and  soft  dean  invite, 
Who  never  mentions  hell  to  ears  polite.6 

But  hark  !  the  chiming  clocks  to  dinner  call; 
A  hundred  footsteps  scrape  the  marble  hall: 

1  The  approaches  and  communications  of  house  with  garden,  or  of 
one  part  with  another,  ill-judged,  and  inconvenient.— 


2  The  false  taste  in  books  ;  a  satire  on  the  vanity  in  collecting 
them,  more  frequent  in  men  of  fortune  than  the  study  to  understand 
them.    Many  delight  chiefly  in  the  elegance  of  the  print,  or  of  the 
binding  ;  some  have  carried  it  so  far  as  to  cause  the  upper  shelves 
to  be  filled  with  painted  books  of  wood  ;  others  pique  themselves  so 
much  upon  books  in  a  language  they  do  not  understand,  as  to  ex- 
clude the  most  useful  in  one  they  do.  —  Pope. 

3  The  false  taste  in  music,  improper  to  the  subjects,  as  of  light 
airs  in  churches^  often  practised  by  the  organist,  &c.  —  Pope. 

4  And  in  painting  (from  which  even  Italy  is  not  free)  of  naked  fig- 
ures in  churches,  &c.   which  has  obliged  some  Popes  to  put  draper- 
ies on  some  of  those  of  the  best  masters.  —  Pope. 

5  Verrio  (Antonio)  painted  many  ceilings,  &c.,  at  Windsor,  Hamp- 
ton Court,  &c.,  and  Laguerre  at  Blenheim  Castle,  and  other  places.— 
Pope. 

6  This  is  a  fact;  a  reverend  Dean  preaching  at  court,   threatened 
the  sinner  with  punishment  in  "  a  place  which  he  thought  it  UP! 
4ecent  to  name  in  so  polite  an  assembly,"—  Pope, 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  259 

The  rich  buffet  well-coloured  serpents  grace,1 

And  gaping  tritons  spew  to  wash  your  face. 

Is  this  a  dinner  ?  this  a  genial  room  ? 

No,  'tis  a  temple,  and  a  hectaomb.2 

A  solemn  sacrifice,  performed  in  state, 

You  drink  by  measure,  and  to  minutes  eat. 

So  quick  retires  each  flying  course,  you'd  swear 

Sancho's  dread  doctor  and  his  wand  were  there.8 

Between  each  act  the  trembling  salvers  ring, 

From  soup  to  sweet-wine,  and  God  bless  the  king. 

In  plenty  starving,  tantalised  in  state, 

And  complaisantly  helped  to  all  I  hate, 

Treated,  caressed,  and  tired,  I  take  my  leave, 

Sick  of  his  civil  pride  from  morn  to  eve; 

I  curse  such  lavish  cost,  and  little  skill, 

And  swear  no  day  was  ever  past  so  ill. 

Yet  hence  the  poor  are  clothed,  the  hungry  fed;4 
Health  to  himself,  and  to  his  infants  bread 
The  lab'rer  bears:  what  his  hard  heart  denies, 
His  charitable  vanity  supplies. 

Another  age  shall  see  the  golden  ear 
Embrown  the  slope,  and  nod  on  the  parterre, 
Deep  harvests  bury  all  his  pride  has  planned, 
And  laughing  Ceres  re-assume  the  land. 

Who  then  shall  grace,  or  who  improve  the  soil  ? 
Who  plants  like  Bathurst,  or  who  builds  like  Boyle. 
'Tis  use  alone  that  sanctifies  expense, 
And  splendour  borrows  all  her  rays  from  sense. 

His  father's  acr£s  who  enjoys  in  peace, 
Or  makes  his  neighbours  glad,  if  he  increase : 
Whose  cheerful  tenants  bless  their  yearly  toil, 
Yet  to  their  lord  owe  more  than  to  the  soil; 
Whose  ample  lawns  are  not  ashamed  to  feed 
The  milky  heifer  and  deserving  steed; 

/*  Taxes  tho  incongruity  of  ornaments  (though  sometimes  practised 
by  the  ancients)  where  an  open  mouth  ejects  the  water  into  a  foun- 
tain, or  where  the  shocking  images  of  serpents,  &c.,  are  introduced 
in  grottoes  or  buffets. — Pope. 

2  The  proud  festivals  of  some  men  are  here  set  forth  to  ridicule, 
where  pride  destroys  the  ease,  and  formal  regularity  all  the  pleasur- 
able enjoyment  of  the  entertainment. — Pope 

3  See  "  Don  Quixote."— Pope. 

4  The  moral  of  the  whole,  where  Providence  is  justified  in  giving 
wealth  to  those  who  squander  it  in  this  manner.      A  bad  taste  em- 
ploys more  hands,  and  diffuses  expense  more  than  a  good  one.  This 
recurs  to  what  is  laid  down  in  Book  I.  Ep.  ii,  ver,  230--7;  and  in  the 
Epistle  proceeding  this,  ver,  161,  &c. — Pope, 


260  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

Whose  rising  forests,  not  for  pride  or  show, 
But  future  buildings,  future  navies,  grow: 
Let  his  plantations  stretch  from  down  to  down, 
First  shade  a  country,  and  then  raise  a  town. 

You  too  proceed !  make  falling  ails  your  care, 
Erect  new  wonders,  and  the  old  repair; 
Jones  and  Palladio  to  themselves  restore, 
And  be  whate'er  Vitruvius  was  before: 
'Till  kings  call  forth  the  ideas  of  your  mind, 
(Proud  to  accomplish  what  such  hands  designed,) 
Bid  harbours  open,  public  ways  extend, 
Bid  temples,  worthier  of  the  God,  ascend; 
Bid  the  broad  arch  the  dangerous  flood  contain, 
The  mole  projected  break  the  roaring  main; 
Back  to  their  bounds  their  subject  sea  command, 
And  roll  obedient  rivers  through  the  land: 
These  honours  peace  to  happy  Britain  brings, 
These  are  imperial  works,  and  worthy  kings. 


EPISTLE  V.1 
TO  MR.  ADDISON. 

OCCASIONED   BY   HIS   DIALOGUES   ON   MEDALS. 

SEE  the  wild  waste  of  all-devouring  years ! 
How  Rome  her  own  sad  sepulchre  appears, 
With  nodding  arches,  broken  temples  spread ! 
The  very  tombs  now  vanished  like  their  dead ! 
Imperial  wonders  raised  on  nations  spoiled, 
Where,  mixed  with  slaves,  the  groaning  martyr  toiled  i 
Huge  theatres,  that  now  unpeopled  woods, 
Now  drained  a  distant  country  of  her  floods: 
Fanes,  which  admiring  gods  with  pride  survey, 
Statues  of  men,  scarce  less  alive  than  they ! 

1  This  was  originally  written  in  the  year  1715,  when  Mr.  Addison 
intended  to  publish  his  book  of  Medals ;  it  was  some  time  before  he 
was  Secretary  of  State ;  but  not  published  till  Mr.  Tickell's  edition 
of  his  works;  at  which  time  the  verses  on  Mr.  Craggs,  whiQh,  con/> 
«iud©  th.e  poem,  were  ad,dedf  viz,  in  1720,— 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  261 

Some  felt  the  silent  stroke  of  mould'ring  age, 
Some  hostile  f  ur}r,  some  religious  rage. 
Barbarian  blindness,  Christian  zeal  conspire, 
And  Papal  piety,  and  Gothic  fire. 
Perhaps,  by  its  own  ruins  saved  from  flame, 
Some  buried  marble  half  preserves  a  name; 
That  name  the  learned  with  fierce  disputes  pursue, 
And  give  to  Titus  old  Vespasian's  due. 

Ambition  sighed:  she  found  it  vain  to  trust 
The  faithless  column  and  the  crumbling  bust: 
Huge  moles,  whose  shadow  stretched  from  shore 

to  shore, 

Their  ruins  perished,  and  their  place  no  more ! 
Convinced,  she  now  contracts  her  vast  design, 
And  all  her  triumphs  shrink  into  a  coin. 
A  narrow  orb  each  crowded  conquest  keeps; 
Beneath  her  palm  here  sad  Judea  weeps: 
Now  scantier  limits  the  proud  arch  confine, 
And  scarce  are  seen  the  prostrate  Nile  or  Khine; 
A  small  Euphrates  through  the  piece  is  rolled, 
And  little  eagles  wave  their  wings  in  gold. 

The  medal,  faithful  to  its  charge  of  fame, 
Through  climes  and  a^es  bears  each  form  and  name: 
In  one  short  view  subjected  to  our  eye 
Gods,  emp'rors,  heroes,  sages,  beauties,  lie. 
With  sharpened  sight  pale  antiquaries  pore, 
The  inscription  value,  but  the  rust  adore. 
This  the  blue  varnish,  that  the  green  endears,1 
The  sacred  rust  of  twice  ten  hundred  years! 
To  gain  Pescennius 2  one  employs  his  schemes, 
One  grasps  a  Cecrops 3  in  ecstatic  dreams. 
Poor  Vadius,4  long  with  learned  spleen  devoured, 
Can  taste  no  pleasure  since  his  shield  was  scoured; 
And  Curio,  restless  by  the  fair  one's  side, 
Sighs  for  an  Otho,  and  neglects  his  bride.5 

Theirs  is  the  vanity,  the  learning  thine: 


1  This  is  a  collection  of  silver,  that  of  brass  coins. — Wdrburton. 

2  The  rare  medal  of  the  Emperor  Pescennius  Niger,  who  succeeded 
Pertlnax,  193 :  killed,  195. 

3  The  Athenian  lawgiver. 

4  See  his  history,  and  that  of  his  shield,  in  the  "  Memoirs  of  Scrib- 
lerus."—  Warburton..    Vadius  was  Dr.  Woodward,  an  antiquary  and 
naturalist. 

6  Charles  Patin  was  banished  from  the  court  because  he  sold 
Louis  XIV.  an  Otho  that  was  not  genuine.—  War  ton. 


262  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

Touched  by  thy  hand,  again  Eome's  glories  shine ; 
Her  gods,  and  god-like  heroes  rise  to  view, 
And  all  her  faded  garlands  bloom  anew. 
Nor  blush,  these  studies  thy  regard  engage; 
These  pleased  the  fathers  of  poetic  rage; 
The  verse  and  sculpture  bore  an  equal  part, 
And  art  reflected  images  to  art. 

Oh,  when  shall  Britain,  conscious  of  her  claim, 
Stand  emulous  of  Greek  and  Roman  fame  ? 
In  living  medals  see  her  wars  enrolled, 
And  vanquished  realms  supply  recording  gold  ? 
Here,  rising  bold,  the  patriot's  honest  face; 
There  warriors  frowning  in  historic  brass: 
Then  future  ages  with  delight  shall  see 
How  Plato's,  Bacon's.,  Newton's  looks  agree; 
Or  in  fair  series  laurelled  bards  be  shown, 
A  Virgil  there,  and  here  an  Addison. 
Then  shall  thy  Craggs  (and  let  me  call  him  mine) 
On  the  cast  ore,  another  Pollio,  shine; 
With  asp'ect  open,  shall  erect  his  head, 
And  round  the  orb  in  lasting  notes  be  read, 
"  Statesman,  yet  friend  to  truth !  of  soul  sincere, 
In  action  faithful,  and  in  honour  clear; 
Who  broke  no  promise,  served  no  private  end, 
Who  gained  no  title,  and  who  lost  no  friend;1 
Ennobled  by  himself,  by  all  approved, 
And  praised,  unsnvied,  by  the  muse  he  loved." 

1  James  Craggs  had  raised  himself  from  an  inferior  position  to  be 
Secretary  of  State  to  George  I.  When  in  power  he  offered  Pope  a 
pension  of  £300  a  year. 


SATIRES.  263 


SATIRES. 


EPISTLE  TO  DR.  AKBUTHNOT 

BEING  , 

THE  PKOLOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

This  paper  is  a  sort  of  bill  of  complaint,  begun  many  years 
since,  and  drawn  up  by  snatches,  as  the  several  occasions 
offered.  I  had  no  thoughts  of  publishing  it,  till  it  pleased 
some  persons  of  rank  and  fortune  (the  authors  of  * '  Verses 
to  the  Imitator  of  Horace,"  and  of  an  "Epistle  to  a  Doctor 
of  Divinity  from  a  Nobleman  at  Hampton  Court")  to  attack, 
in  a  very  extraordinary  manner,  not  only  my  writings,  (of 
which,  being  public,  the  public  is  judge,)  but  my  person, 
morals,  and  family,  1  whereof,  to  those  who  know  me  not, 
a  truer  information  may  be  requisite.  Being  divided  between 
the  necessity  to  say  something  of  myself,  and  my  own  lazi- 
ness to  undertake  so  awkward  a  task,  I  thought  it  the 
shortest  way  to  put  the  last  hand  to  this  epistle.  If  it  have 
anything  pleasing,  it  will  be  that  by  which  I  am  most  desirous 
to  please,  the  truth,  and  the  sentiment;  and  if  anything 
offensive,  it  will  be  only  to  those  I  am  least  sorry  to  offend, 
the  vicious  or  the  ungenerous. 

Many  will  know  their  own  pictures  in  it,  there  being  not  a 
circumstance  but  what  is  true  ;  but  I  have  for  the  most  part 
spared  their  names,  and  they  may  escape  being  laughed  at,  if 
they  please." 

I  would  have  some  of  them  know,  it  was  owing  to  the 
request  of  the  learned  and  candid  friend  to  whom  it  is  in- 

1  Lady  Mary  W.  Montagu  thus  addressed  him  in  her  "  Address  te 
Mr.  Pope  on  his  Imitation  of  the  First  Satire  of  the  Second  Book 
of  Horace: " 

Thine  is  just  such  an  image  of  his  pen 
As  thou  thyself  art  of  the  sons  of  men, 
Where  oiir  own  species  in  burlesque  we  trace, 
A  sign-post  likeness  of  the  human  race, 
That  is  at  once  resemblance  and  disgrace. 
A  cruel,  unwomanly  sneer  at  the  poet's  physical  defects 
'Again : 

His  style  is  elegant :  his  diction  pure, 
Whilst  none  thy  crabbed  numbers  may  endure, 
"Hard  as  thy  heart,  and  as  thy  birth  obscure. 
The  remainder  01  vim  passage  is  too  coarse  to  q,uote. 


264  SATIRES. 

scribed,,1  that  I  make  not  as  free  use  of  theirs  as  they  have 
done  of  mine.  However,  I  shall  have  this  advantage  and 
honour  on  my  side,  that  whereas,  by  their  proceeding,  any 
abuse  may  be  directed  at  any  man,  no  in  jury  can  possibly  be 
done  by  mine,  since  a  nameless  character  can  never  be 
found  out,  but  by  its  truth  and  likeness.  ,+ 


P.  SHUT,  shut  the  door,  good  John  !2   fatigued,  I 

said, 

Tie  up  the  knocker,  say  I'm  sick,  I'm  dead. 
The  dog-star  rages!  nay,  'tis  past  a  doubt, 
All  Bedlam,  or  Parnassus  is  let  out: 
Fire  in  each  eye,  and  papers  in  each  hand, 
They  rave,  recite,  and  madden  round  the  land. 

What  walls  can  guard  me,  or  what  shades  can  hide  ? 
They  pierce  my  thickets,  through  my  grot  they  glide; 
By  land,  by  water,  they  renew  the  charge; 
They  stop  the  chariot,  and  they  board  the  barge. 
No  place  is  sacred,  not  the  church  is  free; 
Even  Sunday  shines  no  Sabbath  day  to  me; 
Then  from  the  Mint 3  walks  forth  the  man  of  rhyme, 
Happy  to  catch  me  just  at  dinner-time. 

Is  there  a  parson,  much  bemused  in  beer, 
A  maudlin  poetess,  a  rhyming  peer, 
A  clerk,  foredoomed  his  father's  soul  to  cross, 
Who  pens  a  stanza,  when  he  should  engross  ? 
Is  there,  who,  locked  from  ink  and  paper,  scrawls 
With  desp'rate  charcoal  round  his  darkened  walls  ? 

1  Dr.  Arbuthnot.    He  was  a  Scotch  physician,  who  came  to  London, 
and  originally  taught  mathematics.     But  being  accidentally  called  in  to 
attend  Prince  George  of  Denmark  at  Epsom,  he  became  hi's  Highness's 
physician,  and  Queen  Anne's  also.     He  was  author  of  many  satirical 
and  political  works  ;  he  wrote  also  on  natural  history  and  matnematics. 
His  chief  work  was  one  entitled  "  Tables  of  Ancient  Weights  and 
Measures."    He  engaged  with  Pope  and  Swift  to  write  a  satire  on 
human  learning  called  "Memoirs  of  Martin  Scriblerus,"  but  the  pro- 
ject was  not  carried  out.     "Arbuthnot  was  a  man  of  great  sweetness 
of  temper,  and  had  much  more  learning  than  either  Pope  or  Swift.    It 
is  known  that  he  gave  many  hints  to  Pope,  Gay,  and  Swift  of  some  of 
the  most  sterling  parts  of   their  works.     He    frequently    and  ably 
defended  the  cause  of  revelation  against  Bolingbroke  aud  Chesterfield." 
— Warton. 

2  John  Searle,  his  old  and  faithful  servant. 

s  A  place  to  wh'cb  insolvent  debtors  retired,  to  enjoy  an, illegal  pro- 
tection, which  they  were  there  suffered  to  afford  cue  aiiothcr,  from  tue 
persecution  of  their  creditors. — Warburton. 


SATt&lSS.  2C5 

All  fly  to  Twitenliam,  and  in  humble  strain 
Apply  to  me,  to  keep  them  mad  or  vain. 
Arthur,1  whose  giddy  son  neglects  the  laws, 

Imputes  to  me  and  my  d d  works  the  cause. 

Poor  Cornus  sees  his  frantic  wife  elope, 
And  curses  wit,  and  poetry,  and  Pope. 

Friend  to  my  life  (wilich  did  not  you  prolong, 
The  world  had  wanted  many  an  idle  song) 
What  drop  or  nostrum  can  this  plague  remove? 
Or  which  must  end  me,  a  fool's  wrath  or  love ! 
A  dire  dilemma !  either  way  I'm  sped, 
If  foes,  they  write,  if  friends,  they  read  me  dead. 
Seized  and  tied  down  to  judge,  how  wretched  T ' 
Who  can't  be  silent,  and  who  will  not  lie. 
To  laugh,  were  want  of  goodness  and  of  grace, 
And  to  be  grave,  exceeds  all  pow'r  of  face. 
I  sit  with  sad  civility,  I  read 
With  honest  anguish,  and  an  aching  head;* 
And  drop  at  last,  but  in  unwilling  ears, 
This  saving  counsel,  "  Keep  your  piece  nine  years." 

"Nine  years!"  cries  he,  wrho  high  in  Drury  Lane, 
Lulled  by  soft  zephyrs  through  the  broken  pane, 
Rhymes  ere  he  wakes,  and  prints  before  term  ends, 
Obliged  by  hunger,  and  request  of  friends: 
"  The  piece,  you  think,  is  incorrect  ?  why,  take  it, 
I'm  all  submission,  what  you'd  have  it,  make  it." 

Three  things  another's  modest  wishes  bound, 
My  friendship,  and  a  prologue,  and  ten  pound. 

Pitholeon3  sends  to  me :  "  You  know  his  grace,§ 
I  want  a  patron;  ask  him  for  a  place." 
Pitholeon  libelled  me, — "  but  here's  a  letter 
Informs  you,  sir,  'twas  when  he  knew  no  bette 
Dare  you  refuse  him  ?  Curll  invites  to  dine, 
He'll  write  a  journal,4  or  he'll  turn  divine." 

Bless  me!  a  packet. — "'Tis  a  stranger  sues, 

1  Arthur  Moore,  a  politician  of  the  period.    His  son.  James  Moore 
(afterwards  James  Moore-Smythe),  was  a  great  friend  of  Teresa  Blount 
See  note  at  p. 

2  Pope  suffered  constantly  from  headache. 

3The  name  is  taken  from  a  foolish  poet  of  Rhodes,  who  pretended  to 
much  Greek.  Schol.  in  Herat.  P.  I.  Dr.  Bentley  pretends  that  thi* 
Pitholeon  libelled  Caesar  also.— Pope. 

4  Meaning  the  "London  Journal;"  a  paper  in  favour  of  Sir  R 
Walpole's  ministry.  Bishop  Hoadly  wrote  in  it,  as  did  Dr.  Bland, 
—  Warton, 


266  SATIRES. 

A  virgin  tragedy,  an  orphan  muse."  l 
If  I  dislike  it,  "Furies,  death,  and  rage!" 
If  I  approve,  "  Commend  it  to  the  stage." 
There  (thank  my  stars)  my  whole  commission  ends, 
The  play'rs  and  I  are,  luckily,  no  friends. 
Fired  that  the  house  reject  him,  "  'Sdeath,  I'll  print  it, 
And  shame  the  fools Your  interest,  sir,  with  Lin- 
tot!"2 

Lintot,  dull  rogue!  will  think  your  price  too  much: 
"  Not,  sir,  if  you  revise  it,  and  retouch." 
All  my  demurs  but  double  his  attacks; 
At  last  he  whispers,  "Do;  and  we  get  snacks." 
Glad  of  a  quarrel,  straight  I  clap  the  door, 
"  Sir,  let  me  see  your  works  and  you  no  more." 

'Tis  sung,  when  Midas'  ears  began  to  spring, 3 
(Midas,  a  sacred  person  and  a  king) 
His  very  minister  who  spied  them  first, 
(Some  say  his  queen4)  was  forced  to  speak,  or  burst 
And  is  not  mine,  my  friend,  a  sorer  case, 
When  ev'ry  coxcomb  perks  them  in  my  face  ? 

A.  Good  friend,  forbear!  you  deal  in  dang'rous 

things. 

I'd  never  name  queens,  ministers,  or  kings; 
Keep  close  to  ears,  and  those  let  asses  prick; 
'Tis  nothing—  P.  Nothing?  if  they  bite  and  kick? 
Out  with  it,  Dunciad !  let  the  secret  pass, 
That  secret  to  each  fool,  that  he's  an  ass: 
The  truth  once  told  (and  wherefore  should  we  lie  ?) 
The  queen  of  Midas  slept,  and  so  may  I. 

You  think  this  cruel  ?  take  it  for  a  rule, 
No  creature  smarts  so  little  as  a  fool. 
Let  peals  of  laughter,  Codrus !  round  thee  break, 
Thou  unconcerned  canst  hear  the  mighty  crack: 
Pit,  box,  and  gall'ry  in  convulsions  hurled, 
Thou  stand'st  unshook  amidst  a  bursting  world. 
Who  shames  a  scribbler  ?  break  one  cobweb  through, 

1  Alludes  to  a  tragedy  called  the  "Virgin  Queen,"  by  Mr.  K.  Barford, 
published  1729,   who  displeased  Pope    by  daring  to  adopt   the  fine 
machinery  of  his  sylphs  in  an  heroi-comical  poem  called  li  The  Assem- 
bly," 1726.— Warton. 

2  The  famous  bookseller. 

3  Midas  had  ass's  ears  given  him  for  preferring  Pan's  music  to 
Apollo's". 

4  The  story  is  told,  by  isome,  of  his  barber,  but  by  Chaucer  of  his 
queen.    See  "Wife  of  Bath's  Tale"  in  "  Drydeu's  Fables."— Pope, 


SATIRES.  Ml 

He  spins  the  slight,  self-pleasing  thread  anew; 
Destroy  his  fib  or  sophistry  in  vain, 
The  creature's  at  his  dirty  work  again, 
Throned  in  the  centre  of  his  thin  designs, 
Proud  of  a  vast  extent  of  flimsy  lines ! 
Whom  have  I  hurt?  has  poet  yet,  or  peer, 
Lost  the  arched  eye-brow,  or  Parnassian  sneer  ? 

And  has  not  Colley l  still  his  lord,  and  w ? 

His  butchers 2  Henley,  his  freemasons  Moore  ? 

Does  not  one  table  Bavius  still  admit  ? 

Still  to  one  Bishop  Philips  seem  a  wit  ? 3         [offend, 

Still  Sappho —      A.  Hold  !    for  God's  sake  — you'll 

No  names ! — be  calm ! — learn  prudence  of  a  friend ! 

I  too  could  write,  and  I  am  twice  as  tall;  [all. 

But  foes  like  these —     P.  One  flatt'rer's  worse  than 

Of  ah1  mad  creatures,  if  the  learned  are  right, 

It  is  the  slaver  kills,  and  not  the  bite. 

A  fool  quite  angry  is  quite  innocent; 

Alas !  'tis  ten  times  worse  when  they  repent. 

One  dedicates  in  high  heroic  prose, 
And  ridicules  beyond  a  hundred  foes, 
One  from  ah1  Grub  street  will  my  fame  defend, 
And,  more  abusive,  calls  himself  my  friend. 
This  prints  my  letters,  that  expects  a  bribe, 
And  others  roar  aloud,  "  Subscribe,  Subscribe." 

There  are,  who  to  my  person  pay  their  court: 
I  cough  like  Horace,  and,  though  lean,  am  short; 
Ammon's  great  son 4  one  shoulder  had  too  high, 
Such  Ovid's  nose,  and  "  Sir !  you  have  an  eye" — 
Go  on,  obliging  creatures,  make  me  see 
All  that  disgraced  my  betters,  met  in  me. 
Say  for  my  comfort,  languishing  in  bed, 
"  Just  so  immortal  Maro  held  his  head." 
And  when  I  die,  be  sure  you  let  me  know 
Great  Homer  died  three  thousand  years  ago. 

1  Gibber,  the  hero  of  the  "  Dunciad." 

2  This  alludes  to    Henley,    cotnmonly    called  Orator  Henley,   who 
declaimed  on  Sundays  on  religious  subjects,  and  on  Wednesdays  on  the 
sciences.     His  oratory  was  among  the  butchers   in   Newport   Market 
and  Butcher  Row.    Moore  has  been  already  named,     lie  often  headed 
Masonic  processions. — Bowles. 

8  This  was  Bishop  Boulter,  who  was  Ambrose  Philips'  great  friend 
and  patron.  He  was  made  Primate  of  Ireland,  "  where,"  says  Johnson, 
"his  piety  and  charity  will  be  long  remembered, "— Bowies', 

4  Alexander  the  Great, 


268  SATIRES. 

Why  did  I  write  ?  what  sin  to  me  unknown 
Dipt  me  in  ink,  my  parents',  or  my  own  ? 
As  yet  a  child,  nor  yet  a  fool  to  fame, 
I  lisped  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came,5 
I  left  no  calling  for  this  idle  trade, 
No  duty  broke,  no  father  disobeyed. 
The  muse  but  served  to  ease  some  friend,  not  wife, 
To  help  me  through  this  long  disease,  my  life, 
To  second,  Arbuthnot !  thy  art  and  care, 
And  teach,  the  being  you  preserved,  to  bear. 

A.  But  why  then  publish  ?  P.  Granville  the  polite, 
And  knowing  Walsh,  would  tell  me  I  could  write; 
Well-natured  Garth  inflamed  with  early  praise; 
And  Congreve  loved,  and  Swift  endured  my  lays; 
The  courtly  Talbot,1  Somers,  Sheffield  read; 
Even  mitred  Rochester 2  would  nod  the  head, 
And  St.  John's  self  (great  Dryden's  friend  before) 
With  open  arms  received  one  poet  more. 
Happy  my  studies,  when  by  these  approved ! 
Happier  their  author,  when  by  these  beloved ! 
From  these  the  world  will  judge  of  men  and  books, 
Not  from  the  JBurnets,  Oldmixons,  and  Cookes.3 

Soft  were  thy  numbers;  who  could  take  offence, 
While  pure  description  held  the  place  of  sense  ? 
Like  gentle  Fanny's  was  my  flowery  theme; 
A  painted  mistress,  or  a  purling  stream.4 
Yet  then  did  Gildon 5  draw  his  venal  quill; — 

1  He  began  to  write  further  back  than  he  could  remember. 

2  All  these  were  patrons  or  admirers  of  Mr.  Dry  den  ;  though  a  scan- 
dalous libel  .against  him  entitled   "Dr\  den's  Satire  to  his  Muse,"  has 
been  printed 'in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Somers,  of  which  he' was  wholly 
ignorant: 

These  are  the  persons  to  whose  account  the  author  charges  the  pub- 
lication of  his  first  pieces  :  persons  with  whom  he  was  conversant  (and 
he  adds  beloved)  at  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age,  an  early  period 
for  such  acquaintance.  The  catalogue  might  be  made  yet  more  illus- 
trious, had  he  not  confined  it  to  that  time  when  he  wrote  the  "  Pastor- 
als "  and  ••  Windsor  Forest,"  on  which  he  passes  a  sort  of  censure 
in  the  lines  following, — 

While  pure  description  held  the  place  of  sense,  &c, — Pope. 

3  Atterbury,    Bishop    of  Rochester.   .  This    was    his  gesture    when 
pleased. —  Warton. 

4  Authors  of  secret  and  scandalous  history.    By  no  means  authors  of 
the  same  class,  though  the  violence  of  party  might  hurry  them  into 
the  same  mistakes.    But  if  the  first  offended  this  way.  it  was  oulv 
through  an  honest  warmth  of  temper,  that  allowed  too  little  to  an  excel- 
lent understanding.     The  other  two,  with  very  bad  heads,  had  hearts 
still  worse.—  Warburton. 

5  Meaning  the  "  Hape  of  the  Lock"  and  "  Windsor ;  Forest,"—  War- 
burton.    A  painted  meadow,  <fcc.  is  a  verse  of  Mr.  Addison. — Pope. 

6  Charles  Gildon.    He  spent  his  property,  and  lived  to  repair  his,  for* 
tunes  by  writing  abusive  pamphlets.— Bowles, 


SATIRES.  269 

I  wished  the  man  a  dinner,  and  sat  still. 
Yet  then  did  Dennis  rave  in  furious  fret; 
I  never  answered, — I  was  not  in  debt. 
If  want  provoked,  or  madness  made  him  print, 
I  waged  no  war  with  Bedlam  or  the  Mint. 

Did  some  more  sober  critic  come  abroad; 
If  wrong,  I  smiled;  if  right,  I  kissed  the  rod. 
7  Pains,  reading,  study,  are  their  just  pretence, 
And  all  they  want  is  spirit,  taste,  and  sense. 
Commas  and  points  they  set  exactly  right, 
And  'twere  a  sin  to  rob  them  of  their  mite. 
Yet  ne'er  one  sprig  of  laurel  graced  these  ribalds, 
From  slashing  Bentley1  down  to  pidling  Tibalds; 
Each  wight,  who  reads  not,  and  but  scans  and  spells, 
Each  word-catcher,  that  lives  on  syllables, 
j  Even  such  small  critic  some  regard  may  claim, 
Preserved  in  Milton's  or  in  Shakespeare's  name.2 
Pretty !  in  amber  to  observe  the  forms 
Of  hairs,  or  straws,  or  dirt,  or  grubs,  or  worms ! 
The  things,  we  know,  are  neither  rich  nor  rare, 
But  wonder  how  the  devil  they  got  there. 

Were  others  angry:  I  excused  them  too; 
Well  might  they  rage,  I  gave  them  but  their  due. 
A  man's  true  merit  'tis  not  hard  to  find; 
But  each  man's  secret  standard  in  his  mind, 
That  casting- weight  pride  adds  to  emptiness, 
This,  who  can  gratify  ?  for  who  can  guess  ? 
The  bard  whom  pilfered  pastorals  renown, 
Who  turns  a  Persian  tale  for  half  a  crown,3 
Just  writes  to  make  his  barrenness  appear, 
And  strains,  from  hard-bound  brains,  eight  lines  a 

year; 

He,  who  still  wanting,  though  he  lives  on  theft, 
Steals  much,  spends  little,  yet  has  nothing  left: 

1  The  following  epigram  by  Pope,  inBentley's  edition  of  "Milton," 
to  which  the  epithet  slashing  alludes,  I  have  found  in  his  hand- 
writing : 

Did  Milton's  prose,  O  Charles,  thy  death  defend  ? 

A  furious  foe  unconscious  proves  a  friend. 

On  Milton's  verse  did  Bentley  comment  ?-  -know 

A  weak  officious  friend  becomes  a  foe, 

While  he  best  sought  his  author's  fame  to  further, 

The  murd'rous  critic  has  avenged  thy  murder.— Bowles. 

2  Theobald  had  found  fault  with  Pope's  editiomof  "Shakespeare/' 

3  Ambrose  Philips  translated  a  book  called  the  "  Persian  Tales,  " 
a  book  full  ot  fancy  and  imagination.— Pope. 


270  SATIRES. 

And  he,  who  how  to  sense,  now  nonsense  leaning, 
Means  not,  but  blunders  round  about  a  meaning; 
And  he,  whose  fustian's  so  sublimely  bad, 
It  is  not  poetry,  but  prose  run  mad; 
All  these,  my  modest  satire  bade  translate, 
And  owned  that  nine  such  poets  made  a  Tate.1 
How  did  they  fume,  and  stamp,  and  roar,  and  chafe ! 
And  swear,  not  Addison  himself  was  safe. 

Peace  to  all  such !  bub  were  there  one  whose  fires 
True  genius  kindles,  and  fair  fame  inspires; 
Blest  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please, 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  ease; 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the  throne, 
Yiew  him  with  scornful,  yet  with  jealous  eyes, 
!  And  hate  for  arts  that  caused  himself  to  rise; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer: 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike, 
X    Just  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike; 
Alike  reserved  to  blame,  or  to  commend, 
A  timorous  foe,  and  a  suspicious  friend; 
Dreading  ev'n  fools,  by  flatt'rers  besieged, 
And  so  obliging,  that  he  ne'er  obliged; 
Like  Cato,  give  his  little  senate  laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause;. 
While  wits  and  templars  every  sentence  raise, 
And  wronder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise : — 

rWlio  but  must  laugh,  if  such  a  man  there  be  ? 
Who  would  not  weep,  if  Atticus 2  were  he  ? 

Who  though  my  name  stood  rubric  on  the  walls, 
Or  plaistered  posts,  writh  claps,  in  capitals  ? 
Or  smoking  forth,  a  hundred  hawkers'  load, 
On  wings  of  winds  came  flying  all  abroad '? 3 
f~  I  sought  no  homage  from  the  race  that  write; 
M  I  kept, like  Asian  monarchs,  from  their  sight: 
Poems  I  heeded  (now  be-rhymed  so  long) 

1  Nahum   Tate,  poet  laureate,  the  author  of  the  version  of  the 
psalms  in  connection  with  Brady. 

2  it  was  a  great  falsehood,  when  some  of  the  libels  reported  that 
this  character  was  written  after  the  gentleman's  death ;  which  see 
refuted  in  the  Testimonies  prefixed  to  the   "Dunciad.  "      But  the 
occasion  of  writing  it  was  such  as  he  would  not  make  public  out  of 
regard  to  his  memory :  and  all  that  could  further  be  done  was  tc 
omit  the  name  in  the  edition  of  his  works. — Pope, 

3  Hopkins,  in  the  104t&  psalm,— Pope 


SATIRES.  271 

No  more  than  thou,  great  George !  a  birth-day  sonj. 
I  ne'er  with  wits  or  witlings  passed  my  days, 
..To  spread  about  the  itch  of  verse  and  praise; 
Nor  like  a  puppy,  daggled  through  the  town, 
To  fetch  and  carry  sing-song  up  and  down; 
Nor  at  rehearsals  sweat,  and  mouthed,  and  cried, 
With  handkerchief  and  orange  at  my  side; 
But  sick  of  fops,  and  poetry,  and  prate, 
To  Bufo  left  the  whole  Castalian  state. 

Proud  as  Apollo  on  his  forked  hill, 
Sat  full-blown  Bufo,  puffed  by  every  quill; 
Fed  with  soft  dedication  all  day  long, 
Horace  and  he  went  hand  in  hand  in  song. 
His  library  (where  busts  of  poets  dead 
And  a  true  Pindar  stood  without  a  head,1) 
Received  of  wits  an  undistinguished  race, 
Who  first  his  judgment  asked,  and  then  a  place: 
Much  they  extolled  his  pictures,  much  his  seat, 
And  flattered  every  day,  and  some  days  eat: 
Till  grown  more  frugal  in  his  riper  days, 
He  paid  some  bards  with  port,  and  some  with  praise; 
To  some  a  dry  rehearsal  was  assigned, 
And  others  (harder  still)  he  paid  in  kind. 
Dryden  alone  (what  wonder  ?)  came  not  nigh, 
Dry  den  alone  escaped  this  judging  eye : 
But  still  the  great  have  kindness  in  reserve, 
He  helped  to  bury  whom  he  helped  to  starve.8 

May  some  choice  patron  bless  each  gray  goose 

quill  I 

May  every  Bavius  have  his  Bufo  still ! 
So,  when  a  statesman  wants  a  day's  defence, 
Or  envy  holds  a  whole  week's  war  with  sense, 
@r  simple  pride  for  flatt'ry  makes  demands, 
May  dunce  by  dunce  be  whistled  off  my  hands ! 
Blest  be  the  great!  for  those  they  take  away, 
And  those  they  left  me;  for  they  left  me  Gay;3 
Left  me  to  see  neglected  genius  bloom, 

1  Ridicules  the  affectation  of  antiquaries,  who  frequently  exhibit 
the  headless  trunks  or  torsi  of  statues,  for  Plato,  Homer,  Pindar,  &c. 
Vide  ^Fulv.  Ursin,"  &c.—Pope 

2  Mr.  Dryden  after  having  lived  in  exigencies,  had  a  magnificent 
funeral  bestowed  upon  him  by  the  contribution  of  several  persons 
of  quality. — Pope. 

3  The  sweetness  of  Gay's  temper  had  endeared  him  to  all  his 
literary  cotemporaries.    The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Queensbury  were 
his  unfailing  and  true  friends. 


272  SATIRES 

Neglected  die,  and  tell  it  on  his  tomb: 

Of  all  thy  blameless  life  the  sole  return 

My  verse,  and  Queensberry  weeping  o'er  thy  urn ! 

Oh,  let  me  live  ray  own,  and  die  so  too ! 
~     (To  live  and  die  is  all  I  have  to  do :) 
/      Maintain  a  poet's  dignity  and  ease, 

And  see  what  friends,  and  read  what  books  I  please. 
Above  a  patron,  though  I  condescend 
Sometimes  to  call  a  minister  my  friend. 
I  was  not  born  for  courts  or  great  affairs; 
I  pay  my  debts,  believe,  and  say  my  pray'rs; 
Can  sleep  without  a  poem  in  my  head: 
Nor  know,  if  Dennis  be  alive  or  dead. 

"Why  am  I  asked  what  next  shall  see  the  light? 
Heav'n's !  was  I  born  for  nothing  but  to  write  ? 
^Has  life  no  joys  for  me?  or,  (to  be  grave) 
Have  I  no  friend  to  serve,  no  soul  to  save  ? 
"  I  found  him  close  with  Swift" — "  Indeed  ?  no  doubt. 
(Cries  prating  Balbus)  something  will  come  out." 
'Tis  all  in  vain,  deny  it  as  I  will, 
"No,  such  a  genius  never  can  lie  still;" 
And  then  for  mine  obligingly  mistakes 
The  first  lampoon  Sir  Will.1  or  Bubo2  makes, 
Poor  guiltless  I !  and  can  I  choose  but  smile, 
When  ev'ry  coxcomb  knows  me  by  my  style  ? 

Cursed  be  the  verse,  how  wrell  soe'er  it  flow, 
V^  That  tends  to  make  one  worthy  man  my  foe, 
Give  virtue  scandal,  innocence  a  fear, 
Or  from  the  soft-eyed  virgin  steal  a  tear ! 
But  he  who  hurts  a  harmless  neighbour's  peace, 
Insults  fallen  worth,  or  beauty  in  distress, 
Who  loves  a  lie,  lame  slander  helps  about, 
Who  writes  a  libel,  or  who  copies  out: 
That  fop  whose  pride  affects  a  patron's  name, 
Yet  absent,  wounds  an  author's  honest  fame: 
Who  can  your  merit  selfishly  approve, 
And  show  the  sense  of  it  without  the  love; 
Who  has  the  vanity  to  call  you  friend, 
Yet  wants  the  honour,  injured,  to  defend; 
Who  tells  whate'er  you  think,  whatever  you  say, 
And,  if  he  lie  not,  must  at  least  betray: 

i  Sir  William  Young.—  Bowles. 

a  Eubb  Doddington,  afterwards  Lord  Melcombe.— Boivles. 


SATIRES.  273 

Who  to  the  Dean,  and  silver  bell  can  swear,1 
And  sees  at  Canons2  what  was  never  there; 
"Who*  reads,  but  with  a  lust  to  misapply, 
Make  satire  a  lampoon,  and  fiction,  lie. 
V~"  A  lash  like  mine  no  honest  man  shall  dread, 
i_  But  all  such  babbling  blockheads  in  his  stead. 

Let  Sporus  tremble  3 —    A.  What  ?  that  thing  of 


Sporus,  that  mere  white  curd  of  ass's  milk  ? 
Satire  or  sense,  alas !  can  Sporus  feel  ? 
Who  breaks  a  butterfly  upon  a  wheel  ? 

P.  Yet  let  me  flap  this  bug  with  gilded  wings, 
This  painted  child  of  dirt,  that  stinks  and  stings; 
Whose  buzz  the  witty  and  the  fair  annoys, 
Yet  wit  ne'er  tastes,  and  beauty  ne'er  enjoys: 
So  well-bred  spaniels  civilly  delight 
In  mumbling  of  the  game  they  dare  not  bite. 
Eternal  smiles  his  emptiness  betray, 
As  shallow  streams  run  dimpling  all  the  way. 
Whether  in  florid  impotence  he  speaks, 
And  as  the  prompter  breathes,  the  puppet  squeaks; 
Or  at  the  ear  of  Eve,  familiar  toad, 
Half  froth,  half  venom,  spits  himself  abroad, 
In  puns,  or  politics,  or  tales,  or  lies, 
Or  spite,  or  smut,  or  rhymes,  or  balsphemies. 
His  wit  ah1  see-saw,  between  that  and  this, 
Now  high,  now  low,  now  master  up,  now  miss, 
And  he  himself  one  vile  antithesis. 
Amphibious  thing !  that  acting  either  part, 
The  trifling  head  or  the  corrupted  heart, 
Fop  at  the  toilet,  flatterer  at  the  board, 
Now  trips  a  lady,  and  now  struts  a  lord. 
Eve's  tempter  thus  the  Rabbins  have  exprest, 
A  cherub's  face,  a  reptile  ah1  the  rest; 

\    Beauty  that  shocks  you,  parts  that  none  will  trust; 

*,  Wit  that  can  creep,  and  pride  that  licks  the  dust. 
Not  fortune's  worshipper,  nor  fashion's  fool, 

1  Meaning  the  man  who  would  have  persuaded  the  Duke  of  Chan- 
dosthatMr.  P.  meant  him  in  those  circumstances  ridiculed  in  the 
epistle  on  "  Taste."    See  Mr.  Pope's  letter  to  the  Earl  of  Burlington 
concerning  this  matter.— Pope. 

2  The  house  of  the  Duke  of  Chandos. 

8  John  Lord  Hervey,  the  favourite  of  Queen  Caroline,  and  friend 
ot  Lady  M.  W.  Montagu.  His  "Memoirs  of  the  Keign  of  George  II." 
speak  for  his  character. 


c 


274  SATIRES. 

Not  lucre's  madman,  nor  ambition's  tool, 
Not  proud,  nor  servile; — be  one  poet's  praise,    • 
That,  if  he  pleased,  he  pleased  by  manly  ways: 
That  flatt'ry,  even  to  kings,  he  held  a  shame, 
And  thought  a  lie  in  verse  or  prose  the  same. 
That  not  in  fancy's  maze  he  wandered  long, 
But  stooped  to  truth,  and  moralized  his  song: 
.  That  not  for  fame,  but  virtue's  better  end, 
He  'stood l  the  furious  foe,  the  timid  friend, 
The  damning  critic,  half  approving  wit, 
The  coxcomb  hit,  or  fearing  to  be  hit; 
Laughed  at  the  loss  of  friends  he  never  had, 
The  dull,  the  proud,  the  wicked,  and  the  mad; 
The  distant  threats  of  vengeance  on  his  head, 
The  blow  unfelt,  the  tear  he  never  shed; 
The  tale  revived,  the  lie  so  oft  o'erthrown,2 
The  imputed  trash,  and  dulness  not  his  own;3 
The  morals  blackened  when  the  writings  scape, 
The  libelled  person,  and  the  pictured  shape:4 
Abuse,  on  all  he  loved,  or  loved  him,  spread,5 
A  friend  in  exile,6  or  a  father,  dead; 
The  whisper,  that  to  greatness  still  too  near, 
Perhaps,  yet  vibrates  on  his  sov'reign's  ear: — 
Welcome  for  thee,  fair  virtue !  all  the  past; 
For  thee,  fair  virtue !  welcome  even  the  last ! 

A.   But  why  insult  the  poor,  affront  the  great  ? 

P.  A  knave's  a  knave,  to  me,  in  ev'ry  state: 
Alike  my  scorn,  if  he  succeed  or  fail, 
Sporus  at  court,  or  Japhet  in  a  jail, 
A  hireling  scribbler,  or  a  hireling  peer, 
Knight  of  the  post  corrupt,  or  of  the  shire; 
If  on  a  pillory,  or  near  a  throne, 
He  gain  his  prince's  ear,  or  lose  his  own. 

1  Stood  is  here  put  for  withstood.— Bowles. 

2  As,  that  he  received  subscriptions  for  Shakespeare,  that  he  set 
his  name  to  Mr.  Broome's  verses,  &c.,  which,  though  publicly  dis- 
proved, were  nevertheless  shamelessly  repeated  in  the  libels,  and 
even  in  that  called  "The  Nobleman's  Epistle." — Pope. 

a  Such  as  profane  psalms,  court  poems,  and  other  scandulous 
things,  printed  in  his  name  by  Curll  and  others. —  Warburton. 

4  Caricatures  published  of  him. — Bowles, 

&  Namely,  on  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the  Earl  of  Burlington, 
Lord  Bathurst,  Lord  Bolingbroke,  Bishop  Atterbury,  Dr.  Swift,  Dr. 
Arbuthot,  Mr.  Gay,  his  friends,  his  parents,  and  his  very  nurse, 
aspersed  in  printed  papers,  by  James  Moore,  G.  Ducket,,  L.  Welsted, 
Tho.  Bently,  and  other  obscure  persons.— Pope. 

6  Atterbury,  Bishop  of  Rochester. 


S4TIEE8.  275 

Yet  soft  by  nature,  more  a  dupe  than  wit, 
Sappho  can  tell  you  how  this  man  was  bit; 
This  dreadful  satirist  Dennis  will  confess 
Foe  to  his  pride,  but  friend  to  his  distress; 
So  humble,  he  has  knocked  at  Tibbald's  door, 
Has  drunk  with  Gibber,  nay,  has  rhymed  for  Moore. 
Full  ten  years  slandered,  did  he  once  reply  ?  — ' 
Three  thousand  suns,  went  down  on  Welsted's  lie.* 
To  please  a  mistress  one  aspersed  his  life; 
He  lashed  him  not,  but  let  her  be  his  wife. 
Let  Budgel  charge  low  Grub  Street  on  his  quill,8 
And  write  whate'er  he  pleased,  except  his  will;  * 
Let  the  two  Curlls  of  town  and  court,  abuse 
His  father,  mother,  body,  soul,  and  muse.5 
Yet  why  ?  that  father  held  it  for  a  rule, 

1  It  was  so  long  after  many  libels  before  the  author  of  the  '«  Dun- 
clad"   published  that  poem,  till  when,  he  never  writ  a  word  in 
answer  to  the  many  scurrilities  and  falsehoods  concerning  him.— 
Pope. 

2  This  man  had  the  impudence  to  tell  in  print  that  Mr.  P.  had  occas- 
sioned  a  lady's  death,  and  to  name  a  person  he  never  heard  of.    He  also 
published  that  he  libelled  the  Duke  of  Chandos;  with  whom  (it  was 
added)  that  he  had  lived  in  familiarity,  and  received  from  him  a  pres- 
ent of  five  hundred  pounds :    the   falsehood  of  both  which  is  known  to 
his  Grace.    Mr.  P.  never  received   any  present,  farther  than  the  sub- 
scription for  Homer,  from  him,  or  from  any  great  man  whatsoever. — 
Pope. 

a  Budgel,  in  a  weekly  pamphlet  called  the  "Bee,"  bestowed  much 
abuse  on  him,  in  the  imagination  that  he  writ  some  things  about  the 
'•Last  Will"  of  Dr.  Tinclal,  in  the  "Grub  Street  Journal ;"  a  paper 
wherein  he  never  had  the  least  hand,  direction,  or  supervisal,  nor  the 
least  knowledge  of  its  author.— Pope. 

4  Alluding  to  Tindal's  will:  by  which,  and  other  indirect  practices, 
Budgel,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  next  heir,  a  nephew,  got  to  himself 
almost  tbe  whole  fortune  of  a  man  entirely  unrelated  to  him. — Pope. 
The  Rev  Nicholas  Tindal  author  of  ''The  Continuation  of  Rapin," 
declared  his  suspicion  that  this  will  was  forged  This  was  generally 
credited,  and  Budgel,  in  1737,  drowned  himself.  He  wrote  several  of 
the  "Spectators." 

6  In  some  of  Cuiil's  and  other  pamphlets,  Mr.  Pope's  father  was  said 
to  be  a  mechanic,  a  hatter,  a  farmer,  nay,  a  bankrupt.  But,  what 
is  stranger,  a  nobleman  (if  such  a  reflection  could  be  thought 
to  come  from  a  nobleman)  had  dropt  an  allusion  to  that  pitiful  untruth, 
in  a  paper  called  an  "Epistle  to  a  Doctor  of  Divinity  :"  and  the  follow- 
ing line — 

Hard  as  thy  heart,  and  as  thy  birth  obscure, 

had  fallen  from  a  like  courtly  pen,  in  certain  "Verses  to  the  Imitator 
of  Horace."  Mr.  Pope's  father  was  of  a  gentleman's  family  in  Oxford- 
shire, the  head  of  which  was  the  Earl  of  Downe,  whose  sole  heiress 
married  the  Earl  of  Lindsay.  His  mother  was  the  daughter  of 
William  Tumor,  Esq.,  of  York;  she  had  three  brothers,  one  of  whom 
was  killed,  another  died  in  the  service  of  king  Charles;  the  eldest 
following  his  fortunes,  and  becoming  a  general  officer  in  Spain,  left 
her  what  estate  remained  after  the  sequestrations  and  forfeitures  of 
her  family— Mr.  Pope  died  in  1717,  aged  75 ;  she  in  1733,  aged  93,  a  very 
few  weeks  after  this  poem  was  finished.  The  following  inscription 
was  placed  by  their  son  on  their  monument  in  the  parish  of  Twick- 
enham, in  Middlesex :— 


276  SATIRES. 

It  was  a  sin  to  call  our  neighbour  fool: 

Tnat  harmless  mother  thought  no  wife  a : 

Hear  this,  and  spare  his  family,  James  Moore ! 
Unspotted  names,  and  memorable  long! 
If  there  be  force  in  virtue,  or  in  song. 

Of  gentle  blood  (part  shed  in  honour's  cause, 
While  yet  in  Britain  honour  had  applause) 
Each  parent   sprung — A.   What  fortune,  pray? — P> 

their  own, 

And  better  got,  than  Bestia's  from  the  throne. 
Born  to  no  pride,  inheriting  no  strife, 
Nor  marrying  discord  in  a  noble  wife, 
Siranger  to  civil  and  religious  rage, 
The  good  man  walked  innoxious  through  his  age. 
Nor  courts  he  saw,  no  suits  would  ever  try, 
Nor  dared  an  oath,1  nor  hazarded  a  lie. 
Unlearned,  he  knew  no  schoolman's  subtle  art, 
No  language,  but  the  language  of  the  heart. 
By  nature  honest,  by  experience  wise, 
Haalthy  by  temperance,  and  by  exercise; 
His  life,  though  long,  to  sickness  past  unknown,    • 
His  death  was  instant,  and  without  a  groan. 
O,  grant  me,  thus  to  live,  and  thus  to  die ! 
Who  sprung  from  kings  shall  know  less  joy  than  "L 

O,  friend !  may  each  domestic  bliss  be  thine  J 
Be  no  unpleasing  melancholy  mine: 
Me,  let  the  tender  office  long  engage, 
To  rock  the  cradle  of  reposing  age, 
With  lenient  arts  extend  a  mother's  breath, 
Make  languor  smile,  and  smooth  the  bed  of  death,3 
Explore  the  thought,  explain  the  asking  eye, 
And  keep  awhile  one  parent  from  the  sky ! 
On  cares  like  these  if  length  of  days  attend, 

».  o.  M. 

ALEXANDRO.  POPE.  VIRO.  INNOCVO. 
PROBO.  PIO. 

QVI.   VIXIT.    ANNOS.  LXXV.   OB. 

MDCCXVII . 

ET.  EDITHAE.   CONIVGI.   INCVLPABILI. 
PlENTISSIM.E.   QVAE.   VIXIT.   ANNOS. 

XCIII.   OB.    MDCCXXXIII. 

PARENTIBVS.    BENEMERENTIBVS. 

FILIVS.    FECIT.   ET.   SIBI. 

— Pope. 

1  He  was  a  nonjuror,  and  would  not  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  or 
supremacy,  or  the  oath  against  the  Pope.— Bowles. 

2  pope's  filial  piety  and  tender  indulgence  towards  his  mother 
were  unrivalled. 


SATIRES.  277 

May  heaven,  to  bless  those  days,  preserve  my  friend, 
Preserve  him  social,  cheerful,  and  serene, 
And  just  as  rich  as  when  he  served  a  queen.1 

A.  Whether  that  blessing  be  denied  or  giv'n, 
Thus  far  was  right,  the  rest  belongs  to  heav'n. 


SATIRES  AND  EPISTLES  OF  HORACE 
IMITATED. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  occasion  of  publishing  these  Imitations  was  the  clamour 
raised  on  some  of  my  Epistles.  An  answer  from  Horace  was 
both  more  full  and  of  more  dignity,  than  any  I  could  have 
made  in  my  own  person ;  and  the  example  of  much  greater 
freedom  in  so  eminent  a  divine  as  Dr.  Donne,  seemed  a  proof 
with  wjiat  indignation  and  contempt  a  Christian  may  treat 
vice  or  folly,  in  ever  so  low,  or  ever  so  high  a  station.  Both 
these  authors  were  acceptable  to  the  princes  and  ministers 
under  whom  they  lived.  The  satires  of  Dr.  Donne  I  versi- 
fied, at  the  desire  of  the  Earl  of  Oxford  while  he  was  Lord 
Treasurer,  and  of  the  Duke  of  Shrewsbury  who  had  been  Sec- 
retary of  State ;  neither  of  whom  looked  upon  a  satire  on 
vicious  courts  as  any  reflection  on  those  they  served  in.  And 
indeed  there  is  not  in  the  world  a  greater  error,  than  that 
which  fools  are  so  apt  to  fall  into,  and  knaves  with  good  reason 
to  encourage,  the  mistaking  a  satirist  for  a  libeller;  whereas  to 
a  true  satirist  nothing  is  so  odious  as  a  libeller,  for  the  same 
reason  as  to  a  man  truly  virtuous  nothing  is  so  hateful  as  a 
hypocrite. 

Uni  aequus  virtuti  atque  ejus  amicis. 


THE  FIRST  SATIRE  OF  THE 

SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE. 

SATIRE  I. 

TO  MR.  FORTESCUE. 

P.  THERE  are,  (I  scarce  can  think  it,  but  am  told,) 
There  are,  to  whom  my  satire  seems  too  bold: 

i  Queen  Annie. 


278  SATIRES. 

Scarce  to  wise  Peter l  complaisant  enough, 

And  something  said  of  Chartres 2  much  too  rough* 

The  lines  are  weak,  another's  pleased  to  say, 

Lord  Fanny 3  spins  a  thousand  such  a  day. 

Timorous  by  nature,  of  the  rich  in  awe, 

I  come  to  counsel  learned  in  the  law: 

You'll  give  me,  like  a  friend  both  sage  and  free, 

Advice;  and  (as  you  use)  without  a  fee. 

F.  I'd  write  no  more. 

P.  Not  write  ?  but  then  I  think, 
And  for  my  soul  I  cannot  sleep  a  wink. 
I  nod  in  company,  I  wake  at  night, 
Fools  rush  into  my  head,  and  so  I  write. 

F.  You  could  not  do  a  wrorse  thing  for  your  life. 
"Why,  if  the  nights  seem  tedious, — take  a  wife: 
Or  rather  truly,  if  your  point  be  rest, 
Lettuce  and  cowslip-wine;  probatum  est. 
But  talk  with  Celsus,4  Celsus  will  advise 
Hartshorn,  or  something  that  will  close  your  eyes. 
Or,  if  you  needs  must  write,  write  Csesar's  praise, 
You'll  gain  at  least  a  knighthood,  or  the  bays. 

P.  What  ?  like  Sir  Kichard,  rumbling,  rough  and 
fierce,5  [verse, 

With  "Arms,  and  George,  and  Brunswick  "  crowd  the 
Rend  with  tremendous  sound  your  ears  asunder, 
With  gun,  drum,  trumpet,  blunderbuss,  and  thunder  ? 
Or  nobly  wild,  with  Budgel's  fire  and  force, 
Paint  angels-  trembling  round  his  falling  horse  ?  ft 

F.  .Then  all  your  muses  softer  art  display, 
Let  Carolina  smooth  the  tuneful  lay, 
Lull  with  Amelia's 7  liquid  name  the  Nine, 
And  sweetly  flow  through  all  the  royal  line. 

P.  Alas !  few  verses  touch  their  nicer  ear; 
They  scarce  can  bear  their  laureate  twice  a  year; 
And  justly  Caesar  scorns  the  poet's  lays: 
It  is  to  history  he  trusts  for  praise. 

F.  Better  be  Cibber,8  I'll  maintain  it  still, 

1  Peter  Walters,  a  noted  miser.        See  previous  note,  p.  245. 

2  See  previous  note,  p.  240.  3  Lord  Hervey. 
*  Arbuthnot.        5  Sir  Richard  Blackmore. 

6  The  horse  on  which  George  II.  charged  at  the  battle  of  Oudenard, 
thus  absurdly  described. 

7  Queen  Caroline,  the  wife,  and  Princess  Amelia,  the  daughter  of 
George  II. 

8  The  poet  laureate. 


SATISSS.  279 

Than  ridicule  all  taste,  blaspheme  quadrille, 
Abuse  the  city's  best  good  men  in  metre, 
And  laugh  at  peers  that  put  their  trust  in  Peter. 
Even  those  you  touch  not,  hate  you. 

P.  What  should  ail  them? 

F.  A  hundred  smart  in  Timon  and  in  Balaam: 
The  fewer  stiU  you  name,  you  wound  the  more; 
Bond  is  but  one,  but  Harpax  is  a-  score. 

P.  Each  mortal  has  his  pleasure:  none  deny 
Scarsdale  his  bottle,  Darty  his  ham-pie;1 
Ridotta  sips. and  dances,  till  she  see 
The  doubling  lustres  dance  as  fast  as  she; 
Fox  loves  the  senate,2  Hockley-hole 3  his  brother, 
Like  in  all  else,  as  one  egg  to  another. 
I  love  to  pour  out  all  myself,  as  plain 
As  downright  Shippen,  or  as  old  Montaigne.4 
In  them,  as  certain  to  be  loved  as  seen, 
The  soul  stood  forth,  nor  kept  a  thought  within; 
In  me  what  spots  (for  spots  I  have)  appear, 
Will  prove  at  least  the  medium  must  be  clear. 
In  this  impartial  glass,  my  muse  intends 
Fair  to  expose  myself,  my  foes,  my  friends; 
Publish  the  present  age;  but  where  my  text 
Is  vice  too  high,  reserve  it  for  the  next: 
My  foes  shah1  wish  my  life  a  longer  date, 
And  every  friend  the  less  lament  my  fate. 
My  head  and  heart  thus  flowing  through  my  quill, 
Verse-man  or  prose-man,  term  me  which  you  will, 
Papist  or  Protestant,  or  both  between, 
Like  good  Erasmus  in  an  honest  mean,5 
In  moderation  placing  all  my  glory, 
While  Tories  call  me  Whig,  and  Whigs  a  Tory. 

1  Darteneuf,  a  noted  epicure.      This  lover  of  ham-pie  owned  the 
fidelity  of  the  poet's  pencil;  and  said,  he  had  done  justice  to  his 
taste;  but  that  if,  instead  of  ham-pie,  he  had  given  him  sweet-pie, 
he  never  could  have  pardoned  him. —  Warburton. 

2  Supposed  to  be  Henry  Fox,  the  first  Lord  Holland ;  his  brother 
was  Stephen  Fox,  afterwards  Lord  Ilchester.—  Carruthers. 

3  There  was  a  famous  bear-garden  here. 

4  Shippen  was  born  1672,  and  elected  member  for  Bramber,  in 
Sussex,  in  1707.    He  was  famed  for  honesty,  and  though  a  Jacobite, 
it  was  of  him  Sir  Robert  Walpole  declared   "  that  he  could  not  say 
who  was  corrupted,  but  he  could  say  who  was  not  corruptible;  that 
man  was  Shippen."    This  was  great  praise  from  the  minister  who 
had  had  good  cause  to  think  that  every  politician  had  his  price.  Old 
Montaigne,  the  famous  French  essayist;  born  1533,  died  1592.      Both 
were  famous  for  the  plain  truthfulness  of  their  character. 

&  Erasmus  was  noted  for  his  moderation  and  gentleness, 


280  SATIEES. 

Satire's  my  weapon,  but  I'm  too  discreet 
To  run  a  muck,1  and  tilt  at  all  I  meet; 
I  only  wear  it  in  a  land  of  Hectors, 
Thieves,  supercargoes,  sharpers,  and  directors. 
Save  but  our  army !  and  let  Jove  encrust 
Swords,  pikes,  and  guns,  with  everlasting  rust ! 
Peace  is  my  dear  delight — not  Fleury's  more:2 
But  touch  me,  and  no  minister  so  sore. 
Whoe'er  offends,  at  some  unlucky  time 
Slides  into  verse,  and  hitches  in  a  rhyme, 
Sacred  to  ridicule  his  whole  life  long, 
And  the  sad  burthen  of  some  merry  song. 

Slander  or  poison  dread  from  Delia's  rage,3 
Hard  words  or  hanging,  if  your  judge  be  Page.4 
From  furious  Sappho  scarce  a  milder  fate, 
P — d  by  her  love,  or  libelled  by  her  hate. 
Its  proper  pow'r  to  hurt,  each  creature  feels; 
Bulls  aim  their  horns,  and  asses  lift  their  heels; 
JTis  a  bear's  talent  not  to  kick,  but  hug; 
And  no  man  wonders  he's  not  stung  by  pug. 
So  drink  with  Walters,  or  with  Chartres 5  eat, 
They'll  never  poison  you,  they'll  only  cheat. 

Then,  learned  sir !  (to  cut  the  matter  short) 
Whate'er  my  fate, — or  well  or  ill  at  court, 
Whether  old  age,  with  faint  but  cheerful  ray, 
Attends  to  gild  the  ev'ning  of  my  day, 
Or  death's  black  wing  already  be  displayed, 
To  wrap  me  in  the  universal  shade; 
Whether  tLe  darkened  room  to  muse  invite, 
Or  whitened  wall  provoke  the  skew'r  to  write: 
In  durance,  exile,  Bedlam,  or  the  Mint, 
Like  Lee 6  or  Budgel,  I  will  rhyme  and  print. 

F.  Alas  young  man !  your  days  can  ne'er  be  long, 

1  An  allusion  to  a  practice  amongst  the  Malays,  who,  when  they 
have  lost  all  their  property  at  the  gambling  table,  intoxicate  them- 
selves, and  rushing  through  the  streets,  kill  all  they  meet. 

2  The  Cardinal  Prime  Minister  of  France. 

3  The  Countess  of  Deloraine,  who,  it  was  whispered  at  the  time, 
had  poisoned  a  Miss  Mackenzie  from  jealousy.— Bowles.    It  is  said  to 
have  been  only  scandal. 

*  Originally  written  with  a  P .    Judge  Page  sent  to  remonstrate 

with  Pope  about  it. 

5  See  note  at  p.  240. 

6  Nathaniel  Lee,  the  tragedian, a  man  of  some  genius;  but  his 
plays  were  full  of  rant  and  bombast;  he  was  mad  and  in  Bedlam 
for  two  years.    Of  all  his  plays,  "  Alexander  the  Great"  is  alone  re- 
membered.   Died  1690. 


SATIRES.  281 

In  now'r  of  age  you  perish,  for  a  song! 
Plums  and  directors,  Shylock  and  his  wife, 
Will  club  their  testers,  now,  to  take  your  life ! 

P.  What  ?  armed  for  virtue  when  I  point  the  pen, 
Brand  the  bold  front  of  shameless  guilty  men; 
Dash  the  proud  gamester  in  his  gilded  car: 
Bare  the  mean  heart  that  lurks  beneath  a  star; 
Can  there  be  wanting,  to  defend  her  cause, 
Lights  of  the  Church,  or  guardians  of  the  laws? 
Could  pensioned  Boileau  lash  in  honest  strain1 
Flatterers  and  bigots  even  in  Louis'  reign  ? a 
Could  Laureate  Dryden  pimp  and  friar  engage, 
Yet  neither  Charles  nor  James  be  in  a  rage  ? 
And  I  not  strip  the  gilding  of  a  knave, 
Unplaced,  unpensioned,  no  man's  heir,  or  slave  ? 
I  will,  or  perish  in  the  generous  cause : 
Hear  this,  and  tremble !  you  who  'scape  the  laws. 
Yes,  while  I  live,  no  rich  or  noble  knave 
Shall  walk  the  world,  in  credit,  to  his  grave. 
To  virtue  only  and  her  friends  a  friend, 
The  world  beside  may  murmur,  or  commend. 
Know,  all  the  distant  din  that  world  can  keep, 
Kolls  o'er  my  grotto,  and  but  soothes  my  sleep. 
There,  my  retreat  the  best  companions  grace, 
Chiefs  out  of  war,  and  statesmen  out  of  place. 
There  St.  John3  mingles  with  my  friendly  bowl 
The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul: 
And  he,  whose  lightning  pierced  the  Iberian  lines,4 
Now  forms  my  quincunx,  and  now  ranks  my  vines, 
Or  tames  the  genius  of  the  stubborn  plain, 
Almost  as  quickly  as  he  conquered  Spain. 

Envy  must  own,  I  live  among  the  great, 
No  pimp  of  pleasure,  and  no  spy  of  state. 
With  eyes  that  pry  not,  tongue  that  ne'er  repeats, 
Fond  to  spread  friendships,  but  to  cover  heats; 
To  help  who  want,  to  forward  who  excel; 
This,  all  who  know  me,  know;  who  love  me,  tell; 
And  who  unknown  defame  me,  let  them  be 

1  The  canons  of  the  Holy  Chapel,  Paris,  far  from  being  offended  at 
Boileau's  "  Lutrin,"  joined  in  the  laugh  it  caused. 

2  Lous  XIV.,  a  perfect  bigot.  3  Lord  Bolingbroke. 

«  Charles  Mordaunt,  Earl  of  Peterborough,  who  in  the  year  1705 
took  Barcelona,  and  in  the  winter  following  with  only  280  horse  and 
900  foot,  enterprise^  ancl  accomplished,  the  conquest  of. 


282  SATIRES. 

Scribblers  or  peers,  alike  are  mob  to  me. 
This  is  my  plea,  on  this  I  rest  my  cause — 
What  saith  my  counsel,  learned  in  the  laws  ? 

F.  Your  plea  is  good;  but  still  I  say,  beware! 
Laws  are  explained  by  men — so  have  a  care. 
It  stands  on  record,  that  in  Richard's  times 
A  man  was  hanged  for  very  honest  rhymes. 
Consult  the  statute :  quart.  I  think,  it  is, 
Edwardi  sext.  or  prim,  et  quint.  Eliz. 
See  Libels,  Satires — here  you  have  it — read. 

P.  Libels,  and  Satires  !  lawless  things  indeed  ! 
But  grave  Epistles,  bringing  vice  to  light, 
»3ucli  as  a  king  might  read,  a  bishop  write: 
Such  as  Sir  Robert  would  approve — 

F.  Indeed 

The  case  is  altered — you  may  then  proceed ! 
In  such  a  cause  the  plaintiff  will  be  hissed; 
My  lords  the  judges  laugh,  and  you're  dismissed. 


THE  SECOND  SATIRE  OF  THE 

SECOND  BOOK   OP  HORACE. 
SATIRE   H. 

TO  MR.   BETHEL.1 

WHAT,  and  how  great,  the  virtue  and  the  art 
To  live  on  little  with  a  cheerful  heart, 
(A  doctrine  sage,  but  truly  none  of  mine,) 
Let's  talk,  my  friends,  but  talk  before  wre  dine. 
Not  when  a  gilt  buffet's  reflected  pride 
Turns  you  from  sound  philosophy  aside; 
Not  when  from  plate  to  plate  your  eyeballs  roll, 
And  the  brain  dances  to  the  mantling  bowl. 

Hear  Bethel's  sermon,  one  not  versed  in  schools, 
But  strong  in  sense,  and  wise  without  the  rules. 

"Go  work,  hunt,  exercise!"  (he  thus  began) 

i  Hugh  Bethel,  a  great  friend  of  Pope's.    See  "  Moral  Essays,1 
Ep.  v.,  where  he  is  called  "  blameless  Be&ei," 


SATIRES.  283 

*  Then  scorn  a  homely  dinner,  if  you  can. 

Your  wine  locked  up,  your  butler  strolled  abroad, 

Or  fish  denied  (the  river  yet  unthawed) 

If  then  plain  bread  and  milk  will  do  the  feat, 

The  pleasure  lies  in  you,  and  not  the  meat. 

"Preach  as  I  please,  I  doubt  our  curious  men 
Will  choose  a  pheasant  still  before  a  hen; 
Yet  hens  of  Guinea  full  as  good  I  hold, 
Except  you  eat  the  feathers  green  and  gold. 
Of  c°,rps  and  mullets  why  prefer  the  great, 
(Though  cut  in  pieces  ere  my  lord  can  eat)] 
"VH  for  small  turbots  such  esteem  profess? 
because  God  made  these  large,  the  others  less. 
"  Oldfield L  with  more  than  harpy  throat  endued, 
Cries  "  Send  me,  gods !  a  whole  hog  barbecued  I2 
O,  blast  it,  south  winds !  till  a  stench  exhale 
Rank  as  the  ripeness  of  a  rabbit's  tail. 
By  what  criterion  do  ye  eat,  d'ye  think, 
If  this  is  prized  for  sweetness,  that  for  stink  ? 
When  the  tired  glutton  labours  through  a  treat, 
He  finds  no  relish  in  the  sweetest  meat, 
He  calls  for  something  bitter,  something  sour, 
And  the  rich  feast  concludes  extremely  poor: 
Cheap  eggs,  and  herbs,  and  olives  still  we  see; 
Thus  much  is  left  of  old  simplicity ! 
The  robin  red-breast  till  of  late  had  rest, 
And  children  sacred  held  a  martin's  nest, 
Till  beccaficos  sold  so  devilish  dear 
To  one  that  was,  or  would  have  been  a  peer. 
Let  me  extol  a  cat,  on  oysters  fed, 
I'll  have  a  party  at  the  Bedford-head;3 
Or  e'en  to  crack  live  crawfish  reccommend; 
I'd  never  doubt  at  court  to  make  a  friend. 

"  3Tis  yet  in  vain,  I  omi,  to  keep  a  pother 
About  one  vice,  and  fall  into  the  other: 
Between  excess  and  famine  lies  a  mean; 
,  Plain,  but  not  sordid;  though  not  splendid,  clean 

"  Avidien,  or  his  wife  (no  matter  which, 
For  him  you'll  call  a  -dog,  and  her  a  bitch) 

1  This  eminent  glutton  ran  through  a  fortune  of  fifteen  hundred 
pounds  a  year  in  the  simple  luxury  of  good  eating.—  Warburton. 

2  A  West  Indian  term  of  gluttony,  a  hog  roasted  whole,  stuffed 
With  spice,  and  basted  with  Madeira  wine.— Pope. 

3  A  famous  eating-house.— Pope,    It  stood  in  Maiden  Lane. 


281  SATIRES. 

Sell  their  presented  partridges,  and  fruits, 

And  humbly  live  on  rabbits  and  on  roots: 

One  half-pint  bottle  serves  them  both  to  dine, 

And  is  at  once  their  vinegar  and  wine. 

But  on  some  lucky  day  (as  when  they  found 

A  lost  bank-bill,  or  heard  their  son  was  drowned) 

At  such  a  feast,  old  vinegar  to  spare, 

Is  what  two  souls  so  generous  cannot  bear: 

Oil,  though  it  stink,  they  drop  by  drop  impart, 

But  souse  the  cabbage  with  a  bounteous  heart. 

"  He  knows  to  live,  who  keeps  the  middle  state, 
And  neither  leans  on  this  side,  nor  on  that; 
Nor  stops,  for  one  bad  cork,  his  butler's  pay, 
Swears,  like  Albutious,  a  good  cook  away; 
Nor  lets,  like  Naevius,  every  error  pass, 
The  musty  wine,  foul  cloth,  or  greasy  glass. 

"Now  hear  what  blessings  temperance  can  bring:" 
(Thus  said  our  friend,  and  what  he  said  I  sing.) 
"First  health:  The  stomach  (crammed  from  every 

dish, 

A  tomb  of  boiled  and  roast,  and  flesh  and  fish, 
Where  bile,  and  wind,  and  phlegm,  and  acid  jar, 
And  all  the  man  is  one  intestine  war) 
Remembers  oft  the  school-boy's  simple  fare, 
The  temp'rate  sleeps,  and  spirits  light  as  air. 

"  How  pale,  each  worshipful  and  reverend  guest 
Rise  from  a  clergy,  or  a  city  feast ! 
What  life  in  all  that  ample  body,  say  ? 
What  heavenly  particle  inspires  the  clay  ? 
The  soul  subsides,  and  wickedly  inclines 
To  seem,  but  mortal,  even  in  sound  divines. 

"  On  morning  wings  how  active  springs  the  mind 
That  leaves  the  load  of  yesterday  behind ! 
How  easy  ev'ry  labour  it  pursues ! 
How  coming  to  the  poet  every  muse ! 
Not  but  we  may  exceed,  some  holy  time, 
Or  tired  in  search  of  truth,  or  search  of  rhyme; 
111  health  some  just  indulgence  may  engage, 
And  more  the  sickness  of  long  life — old  age; 
For  fainting  age  what  cordial  drop  remains, 
If  our  intemp'rate  youth  the  vessel  drains  ? 

"  Our  fathers  praised  rank  ven'son.     You  suppose 
Perhaps,  young  men!  our  fathers  had  no  nose: 
Not  so :  a  buck  was  then  a  week's  repast, 


8ATIEE8.  285 

And  'twas  their  point,  I  ween,  to  make  it  last; 
More  pleased  to  keep  it  till  their  friends  could  come 
Than  eat  the  sweetest  by  themselves  at  home. 
Why  had  not  I  in  those  good  times  my  birth, 
Ere  coxcomb  pie  s  or  coxcombs  were  on  earth ! 

"  Unworthy  he,  the  voice  of  fame  to  hear, 
That  sweetest  music  to  an  honest  ear, 
(For  faith,  Lord  Fanny ! l  you  are  in  the  wrong, 
The  world's  good  word  is  better  than  a  song) 
Who  has  not  learned,  fresh  sturgeon  and  ham-pie 
Are  no  rewards  for  want,  and  infamy ! 
When  luxury  has  licked  up  all  thy  pelf, 
Cursed  by  thy  neighbours,  thy  trustees,  thyself, 
To  friends,  to  fortune,  to  mankind  a  shame, 
Think  how  posterity  will  treat  thy  name; 
And  buy  a  rope,  that  future  times  may  tell 
Thou  hast  at  least  bestowed  one  penny  well." 

"  Right,"  cries  his  lordship,  "  for  a  rogue  in  need 
To  have  a  taste  is  insolence  indeed: 
In  me  'tis  noble,  suits  my  birth  and  state, 
My  wealth  unwieldy,  and  my  heap  too  great." 
"  Then,  like  the  sun,  let  bounty  spread  her  ray, 
And  shine  that  superfluity  away. 
Oh,  impudence  of  wealth !  with  all  thy  store, 
How  darest  thou  let  one  worthy  man  be  poor? 
Shall  half  the  new-built  churches  round  thee  fall  ? 
Make  quays,  build  bridges,  or  repair  Whitehall: 
Or  to  thy  country  let  that  heap  be  lent, 
As  Marlborough's2  was,  but  not  at  five  per  cent. 

"  Who  thinks  that  fortune  cannot  change  her  mind, 
Prepares  a  dreadful  jest  for  all  mankind. 
And  who  stands  safest  ?  tell  me,  is  it  he 
That  spreads  and  swells  in  puffed  prosperity, 
Or  blest  with  little,  whose  preventing  care 
In  peace  provide  fit  arms  against  a  war?" 

Thus  Bethel  spoke,  who  always  speaks  his  thought, 
And  always  thinks  the  very  thing  he  ought: 
His  equal  mind  I  copy,  what  I  can, 
And,  as  I  love,  would  imitate  the  man. 

V.  Lord  Horvey. 

2  A  certain  parasite,  who  thought  to  please  Lord  Bolingbroke  by 
ridiculing  the  avarice  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  was  stopped 
short  by  Bolingbrol<e's  saying,  "  He  was  so  very  great  a  man,  that  I 
forgot  lie  had  the  vice."—  Warton, 

\ 


286  SATIRES. 

In  South-Sea  days  not  happier,  when  surmised 

The  lord  of  thousands,  than  if  now  excised;1 

In  forest  planted  by  a  father's  hand, 

Than  in  five  acres  now  of  rented  land. 

Content  with  little,  I  can  piddle  here 

On  brocoli  and  mutton,  round  the  year; 

But  ancient  friends  (though  poor,  or  out  of  play) 

That  touch  my  bell,  I  cannot  turn  away. 

'Tis  true,  no  turbots  dignify  my  boards, 

But  gudgeons,  flounders,  what  my  Thames  affords: 

To  Hounslow  Heath  I  point  and  Bansted  Down, 

Thence  comes  your  mutton,  and  these  chicks  my  own: 

From  yon  old  walnut-tree  a  show'r  shall  fall; 

And  grapes,  long  lingering  on  my  only  wall, 

And  figs  from  standard  and  espalier  join; 

The  devil  is  in  you  if  you  cannot  dine: 

Then  cheerful  healths,    (your  mistress  shall  have 

place), 
And,  what's  more  rare,  a  poet  shall  say  grace. 

Fortune  not  much  of  humbling  me  can  boast; 
Though  double  taxed,2  how  little  have  I  lost  ? 
My  life's  amusements  have  been  just  the  same, 
Before,  and  after,  standing  armies  came. 
My  lands  are  sold,  my  father's  house  is  gone; 
I'll  hire  another's;  is  not  that  my  own, 
And  yours,  my  friends  ?  through  whose  free-op'ning 

gate 

None  comes  too  early,  none  departs  too  late; 
(For  I,  who  hold  sage  Homer's  rule  the  best, 
Welcome  the  coming,  speed  the  going  guest. ) 3 
"Pray  heaven  it  last !  "  (cries  Swift !)  "  as  you  go  on: 
I  wish  to  God  this  house  had  been  your  own: 
Pity !  to  build,  without  a  son  or  wife/. 
Why,  you'll  enjoy  it  only  all  your  life." 
Well,  if  the  use  be  mine,  can  it  concern  one, 
Whether  the  name  belong  to  Pope  or  Vernon  ? 4 
What's  property  ?  dear  Swift !  you  see  it  alter 
From  you  to  me,  from  me  to  Peter  Walter; 

1  Pope  had  20,000  or  30,000  pounds  of  South-Sea  stock  which  he  had 
not  sold  out  when  the  bubble  burst. 

2  A  double  tax  was  in  those  days  laid  on  the  estates  of  Papists  and 
Nonj  urors. — Bowles . 

s  From  Homer,  "Od."  b.  xv.  v.  74. 

*  He  had  a  lease  of  his  house  and  gardens  at  Twickenham  for  hia 
life,    The  lease  was  purchased  of  a  Mrs.  Vernon,— J 


SATIRES.  287 

Or,  in  a  mortgage,  prove  a  lawyer's  share; 

Or,  in  a  jointure,  vanish  from  the  heir; 

Or  in  pure  equity  (the  case  not  clear) 

The  chancery  takes  your  rents  for  twenty  year: 

At  best,  it  falls  to  some  ungracious  son, 

Who  cries,  "  My  father's  d d,  and  all's  my  own." 

Shades,  that  to  Bacon  could  retreat  afford,1 

Become  the  portion  of  a  booby  lord; 

And  Hemsley,2  once  proud  Buckingham's  delight, 

Slides  to  a  scriv'ner  or  a  city  knight. 

Let  lands  and  houses  have  what  lords  they  will, 

Let  us  be  fixed,  and  our  own  masters  still. 


THE  FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THE 

FIRST    BOOK     OP    HORACE. 
EPISTLE  I 

TO  LORD  BOLINGBROKE. 

ST.  JOHN,  whose  love  indulged  my  labours  past, 
Matures  my  present,  and  shall  bound  my  last ! 
Why  will  you  break  the  Sabbath  of  my  days  ? 3 
Now  sick  alike  .of  envy,  and  of  praise. 
Public  too  long,  ah,  let  me  hide  my  age ! 
See,  modest  Gibber  now  has  left  the  stage: 
Our  generals,  now,  retired,  to  their  estates, 
Hang  their  old  trophies  o'er  the  garden  gates, 
In  life's  cool  ev'ning  satiate  of  applause, 
Nor  fond  of  bleeding,  even  in  Brunswick's  cause. 

A  voice  there  is,  that  whispers  in  my  ear, 
('Tis  reason's  voice,  which  sometimes  one  can  hear) 
"Friend  Pope!   be   prudent,   let  your  muse  take 
breath, 


1  Gorhambury,  near  St.  Alban's,  at  the  time  Pope  wrote,  the  resi- 
dence of  the  first  Lord  Grimstone. 

2  In  Yorkshire;  it  belonged  to  Villiers,  duke  of  Buckingham. 

3  Seven  times  seven  years,  i.e.,  the  49th  year,  the  age  of  the  author, 


288  SATIRES. 

And  never  gallop  Pegasus  to  death; 

Lest  stiff,  and  stately,  void  of  fire  or  force, 

You  limp,  like  Blackmore  on  a  lord  mayor's  horse.1  * 

Farewell  then  verse,  and  love,  and  ev'ry  toy, 
The  rhymes  and  rattles  of  the  man  or  boy; 
What  right,  what  true,  what  fit  we  justly  call, 
Let  this  be  all  my  care — for  this  is  all: 
To  lay  this  harvest  up,  and  hoard  with  haste 
What  ev'ry  day  will  want,  and  most,  the  last 

But  ask  not,  to  what  doctors  I  apply ! 
Sworn  to  no  master,  of  no  sect  am  I: 
As  drives  the  storm,  at  any  door  I  knock: 
And   house    with  Montaigne    now,   or    now    with 

Locke.2 

Sometimes  a  patriot,  active  in  debate, 
Mix  with  the  world,  and  battle  for  the  state, 
Free  as  young  Ly ttelton 3  her  cause  pursue, 
Still  true  to  virtue,  and  as  wTarm  as  tine : 
Sometimes  with  Aristippus,4  or  St.  Paul, 
Indulge  my  candour,  and  grow  all  to  all; 
Back  to  my  native  moderation  slide, 
And  win  my  way  by  yielding  to  the  tide. 

Long,  as  to  him  who  works  for  debt,  the  day, 
Long  as  the  night  to  her  whose  love's  away, 
Long  as  the  year's  dull  circle  seems  to  run, 
When  the  brisk  minor  pants  for  twenty-one: 
So  slow  th'  unprofitable  moments  roll, 
That  lock  up  all  the  functions  of  my  soul; 
That  keep  me  from  myself;  and  still  delay 
Life's  instant  business  to  a  future  day: 
That  task,  which  as  we  follow,  or  despise, 
The  eldest  is  a  fool,  the  youngest  wise. 
Which  done,  the  poorest  can  no  wants  endure; 

1  The  fame  of  this  heavy  poet,  however  problematical  elsewhere, 
was  universally  received  in  the  city  of  London.     His  versification  is 
here  exactly  described ;  stiff,  and  not  strong;  stately  and  yet  dull, 
like  the  sober  and  slow-paced  animal  generally  employed  to  mount 
the  lord  mayor :  and  therefore  here  humorously  opposed  to  Pega- 
sus.—Pope. 

2  Very  opposite  philosophers.    Montaigne  excelled  in  his  observa- 
tions on  social  and  civil  life ;  Locke  in  explaining  the  operations  of 
the  human  mind. 

3  George  Lord  Lyttelton,  born  1709,  died  1773,  author  of  the  "  Dia- 
logues of  the  Dead,"  &c. ;  the  eulogium  was  well  merited. 

*  The  disciple  of  Socrates  and  founder  of  the  Cyrenaic  sect.  His 
maxims  differed  widely  from  those  of  Socrates,  as  lie  held  that  plea« 
sure  was  the  chief  good. 


SATIRES.  289 

And  which  not  done,  the  richest  must  be  poor.         ^ 

Late  as  it  is,  I  put  myself  to  school, 
And  feel  some  comfort,  not  to  be  a  fool. 
Weak  though  I  am  of  limb,  and  short  of  sight, 
Far  from  a  lynx,  and  not  a  giant  quite; 
I'll  do  what  Mead  and  Cheselden l  advise, 
To  keep  these  limbs,  and  to  preserve  these  eyes. 
Not  to  go  back,,  is  somewhat  to  advance, 
And  men  must  walk  at  least  before  they  dance. 

Say,  does  thy  blood  rebel,  thy  bosom  move 
With  wretched  avarice,  or  as  wretched  love  ? 
Know,  there  are  words,  and  spells,  which  can  control 
Between  the  fits  this  fever  of  the  soul: 
Know,  there  are  rhymes,  which  'fresh  and  fresh  ap- 
plied 

Will  cure  the  arrantest  puppy  of  his  pride. 
Be  furious,  envious,  slothful,  mad,  or  drunk, 
Slave  to  a  wife,  or  vassal  to  a  punk, 
A  Switz,  a  High-dutch,  or  a  Low-dutch  bear; 
All  that  we  ask  is  but  a  patient  ear. 

Tis  the  first  virtue,  vices  to  abhor; 
And  the  first  wisdom,  to  be  fool  no  more. 
But  to  the  world  no  bugbear  is  so  great, 
As  want  of  figure,  and  a  small  estate. 
To  either  India  see  the  merchant  fly, 
Scared  at  the  spectre  of  pale  poverty  ! 
See  him,  with  pains  of  body,  pangs  of  soul, 
Burn  through  the  tropic,  freeze  beneath  the  pole ! 
Wilt  thou  do  nothing  for  a  nobler  end, 
Nothing  to  make  philosophy  thy  friend  ? 
To  stop  thy  foolish  views,  thy  long  desires, 
And  ease  thy  heart  of  all  that  it  admires  ? 

Here,  Wisdom  calls :  "  Seek  virtue  first,  be  bold ! 
As  gold  to  silver,  virtue  is  to  gold." 
There,  London's  voice:  "  Get  money,  money  still! 
And  then  let  virtue  follow,  if  she  will." 
This,  this  the  saving  doctrine  preached  to  all, 
From  low  St.  James's  up  to  high  St.  Paul; 
From  him  whose  quills  stand  quivered  at  his  ear, 
To  him  who  notches  sticks  at  Westminster.2 

1  Great  physicians. 
*  /.e,,  exchequer  tallies,— - 


290  SATIRES. 

«  Barnard  in  spirit,  sense,  and  truth  abounds;1 

"  Pray  then,  what  wants  he  ?  "     Fourscore  thousand 

pounds; 

As  pension,  or  such  harness  for  a  slave 
As  Bug  now  has,  and  Dorimant  would  have. 
Barnard,  thou  art  a  cit,  with  all  thy  worth; 
But  Bug  and  D 1,  "  their  Honours,"  and  so  forth. 

Yet  ev'ry  child  another  song  will  sing: 
"  Virtue,  brave  boys !  'tis  virtue  makes  a  king." 
True,  conscious  honour  is  to  feel  no  sin, 
He's  armed  without  that's  innocence  within; 
Be  this  thy  screen,  and  this  thy  wall  of  brass; 
Compared  to  this,  a  minister's  an  ass. 

And  say,  to  which  shall  our  applause  belong, 
This  new  court  jargon,  or  the  good  old  song  ? 
The  modern  language  of  corrupted  peers, 
Or  what  was  spoke  at  Cressy  and  Poitiers? 
Who  counsels  best?  who  whispers,  "Be  but  great, 
With  praise  or  infamy  leave  that  to  fate; 
Get  place  and  wealth,  if  possible,  with  grace; 
If  not,  by  any  means  get  wealth  and  place." 
For  what  ?  to  have  a  box  where  eunuchs  sing, 
And  foremost  in  the  circle  eye  a  king, 
Or  he,  who  bids  thee  face  with  steady  view 
Proud  fortune,  and  look  shallow  greatness  through: 
And,  while  he  bids  thee,  sets  the  example  too  ? 
If  such  a  doctrine,  in  St.  James's  air, 
Should  chance  to  make  the  well-dressed  rabble  stare; 
If  honest  Schutz2  take  scandal  at  a  spark, 
That  less  admires  the  palace  than  the  park; 
Faith  I  shall  give  the  answer  Reynard  gave: 
"I  cannot  like,  dread  sir,  your  royal  cave: 
Because  I  see;  by  all  the  tracks  about, 
Full  many  a  beast  goes  in,  but  none  come  out" 
Adieu  to  virtue,  if  you're  once  a  slave: 
Send  her  to  court,  you  send  her  to  her  grave. 

Well,  if  a  king's  a  lion,  at  the  least 
The  people  are  a  many-headed  beast: 
Can  they  direct  what  measures  to  pursue, 
Who  know  themselves  so  little  what  to  do  ? 
Alike  in  nothing  but  one  lust  of  gold, 

1  Sir  John  Barnard,  member  for  the  city;  he  was  born  at  Read- 
ing, of  Quaker  parents,  but  was  received  into  the  Church  of  England 
by  Compton,  Bishop  of  London. 

2  Augustus  Schutz,  a  courtier.—  Carruthers. 


SATIRES.  291 

Just  half  the  land  would  buy,  and  half  be  sold: 
Their  country's  wealth  our  mightier  misers  drain, 
Or  cross,  to  plunder  provinces,  the  main; 
The  rest,  some  farm  the  poor-box,1  some  the  pews; 
Some  keep  assemblies,  and  would  keep  the  stews; 
Some  with  fat  bucks  on  childless  dotards  fawn; 
Some  win  rich  widows  by  their  chine  and  brawn; 
While  with  the  silent  growth  of  ten  per  cent. 
In  dirt  and  darkness,  hundreds  stink  content. 

Of  all  these  ways,  if  each  pursues  his  own, 
Satire  be  kind,  and  let  the  wretch  alone: 
But  show  me  one  who  has  it  in  his  pow'r 
To  act  consistent  with  himself  an  hour. 
Sir  Job  sailed  forth,  the  evening  bright  and  still, 
"  No  place  on  earth  (he  cried)  like  Greenwich  hill  I" 
Up  starts  a  palace;  lo,  th'  obedient  base 
Slopes  at  its  foot,  the  woods  its  sides  embrace, 
The  silver  Thames  reflects  its  marble  face. 
Now  let  some  whimsy,  or  that  the  devil  within 
Which  guides  all  those  who  know  not  what  they 

mean, 

But  give  the  knight  (or  give  his  lady)  spleen; 
"Away,  away !  take  ah1  your  scaffolds  down, 
For  snug's  the  word;  my  dear!  we'll  live  in  town." 

At  amorous  Flavio  is  the  stocking  thrown  ? 
That  very  night  he  longs  to  lie  alone. 
The  fool,  whose  wife  elopes  some  thrice  a  quarter. 
For  matrimonial  solace  dies  a  martyr. 
Did  ever  Proteus.  Merlin,  any  witch, 
Transform  themselves  so  strangely  as  the  rich  ? 
Well,  but  the  poor?  the  poor  have  the  same  itch; 
They  change  their  weekly  barber,  weekly  news, 
Prefer  a  new  japanner  to  their  shoes, 
Discharge  their  garrets,  move  their  beds,  and  run 
(They  know  not  whither)  in  a  chaise  and  one; 
They  hire  their  sculler,  and  when  once  aboard, 
Grow  sick,  and  d the  climate — like  a  lord. 

You  laugh,  half  beau,  half  sloven  if  I  stand, 
My  wig  all  powder,  and  all  snuff  my  band; 
Yoi\  laugh,  if  coat  and  breeches  strangely  vary, 
White  gloves,  and  linen  worthy  lady  Mary ! 
But  when  no  prelate's  lawn  with  hair-shirt  lined, 

i  Alluding  probably  to  a  society  called  the  Charitable  Corporation, 
by  which  thousands  y/cro  cheated  and  ruined,— 


292  SATIRES. 

Is  half  so  incoherent  as  my  mind, 

When  (each  opinion  with  the  next  at  strife, 

One  ebb  and  flow  of  follies  all  my  life) 

I  plant,  root  up;  I  build,  and  then  confound; 

Turn  round  to  square,  and  square  again  to  round* 

You  never  change  one  muscle  of  your  face, 

You  think  this  madness  but  a  common  case, 

Nor  once  to  Chancery,  nor  to  Hale1  apply; 

Yet  hang  your  lip,  to  see  a  seam  awry ! 

Careless  how  ill  I  with  myself  agree, 

Kind  to  my  dress,  my  figure,  not  to  me. 

Is  this  my  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend  ? 

This,  he  who  loves  me,  and  who  ought  to  mend  ? 

Who  ought  to  make  me  (what  he  can,  or  none,) 

That  man  divine  whom  wisdom  calls  her  own; 

Great  without  title,  without  fortune  blessed:        [ed 

Kich  even  when  plundered,  honoured  while  oppress- 

Loved  without  youth,  and  followed  without  power; 

At  home,  though  exiled;  free,  though  in  the  Tower; 

In  short,  that  reasoning,  high,  immortal  thing, 

Just  less  than  Jove,  and  much  above  a  king, 

Nay,  half  in  heaven — except  (what's  mighty  odd) 

A  fit  of  vapours  cloud  this  demi-god 


THE  SIXTH  EPISTLE  OF  THE 

FIRST    BOOK    OP    HORACE. 

EPISTLE  YL 

1737. 
TO  MR.  MURRAY.2 

"  NOT  to  admire,  is  all  the  art  I  know, 

To  make  men  happy,  and  to  keep  them  so." 

1  Dr.  Hale,  a  physician  employed  in  cases  of  insanity.—  Carrutters. 

2  "Silver-tongued  Murray,"  as  Pope  called  him, was  born  1704,  died 
1793.     He  was  a  distinguished  lawyer;  became  chief  justice  of  the 
king's  bench,  and  was  finally  created  Earl  of  Mansfield.    He  became 
unpopular  at  one  time,  and  had  his  house  burned  down  by  the  mob. 
His  valuable  library  was  thus  destroyed, 


SATIRES.  293 

(Plain  truth,  dear  Murray,  needs  no  flowers  of  speech. 
So  take  it  in  the  very  words  of  Creech.1) 

This  vault  of  air,  this  congregated  ball, 
Self-centred  sun,  and  stars  that  rise  and  fall, 
There  are,  my  friend !  whose  philosophic  eyes 
Look  through,  and  trust  the  Ruler  with  his  skies, 
To  him  commit  the  hour,  the  day,  the  year, 
And  view  this  dreadful  All  without  a  fear. 
Admire  we  then  what  earth's  low  entrails  hold, 
Arabian  shores,  or  Indian  seas  infold; 
All  the  mad  trade  of  fools  and  slaves  for  gold  ? 
Or  popularity  ?  or  stars  and  strings  ? 
The  mob's  applauses,  or  the  gifts  of  kings? 
Say  with  what  eyes  we  ought  at  courts  to  gaze, 
And  pay  the  great  our  homage  of  amaze  ? 

If  weak  the  pleasure  that  from  these  can  spring, 
The  fear  to  want  them  is  as  weak  a  thing: 
Whether  we  dread,  or  whether  we  desire, 
I*n  either  case,  believe  me,  we  admire; 
Whether  we  joy  or  grieve,  the  same  the  curse, 
Surprised  at  better,  or  surprised  at  worse. 
Thus  good  or  bad,  to  one  extreme  betray 
Th*  unbalanced  mind,  and  snatch  the  man  away; 
For  virtue's  self  may  too  much  zeal  be  had; 
.The  worst  of  madmen  is  a  saint  run  mad. 

Go  then,  and  if  you  can,  admire  the  state 
Of  beaming  diamonds,  and  reflected  plate; 
Procure  a  taste  to  double  the  surprise, 
And  gaze  on  Parian  charms  with  learned  eyes: 
Be  struck  with  bright  brocade,  or  Tyrian  dye, 
Our  birth-day  nobles'  splendid  livery. 
If  not  so  pleased,  at  council-board  rejoice, 
To  see  their  judgments  hang  upon  thy  voice; 
From  morn  to  night,  at  senate,  rolls,  and  hall, 
Plead  much,  read  more,  dine  late,  or  not  at  all. 
But  wherefore  all  this  labour,  all  this  strife  ? 
For  fame,  for  riches,  for  a  noble  -wife  ? 
Shall  one  whom  nature,  learning,  birth,  conspired 
To  form,  not  to  admire  but  be  admired, 
Sigh,  while  his  Chloe  blind  to  wit  and  worth 
Weds  the  rich  dulness  of  some  son  of  earth  ? 
Yet  time  ennobles,  or  degrades  each  line; 

1  From  whose  translation  the  first  two  lines  of  Horace  are  taken.— 
Pope. 


294  SATIRES. 

It  brightened  Craggs's,1  and  may  darken  thine  I 
And  what  is  fame '?  tiie  meanest  have  their  day, 
The  greatest  can  but  blaze,  and  pass  away. 
Graced  as  thou  art  with  all  the  power  of  words,1 
So  known,  so  honoured,  at  the  House  of  Lords,* 
Conspicuous  scene !  another  yet  is  nigh, 
(More  silent  far)  where  kings  and  poets  lie; 
Where  Murray  (long  enough  his  country's  pride) 
Shall  be  no  more  than  Tully,  or  than  Hyde  !* 

Backed  with  sciatics,  martyred  with  the  stone, 
Will  any  mortal  let  himself  alone  ? 
See  Ward  by  battered  beaux  invited  over, 
And  desperate  misery  lays  hold  on  Dover.5 
The  case  is  easier  in  the  mind's  disease; 
There  all  men  may  be  cured,  whene'er  they  please. 
Would  ye  be  blessed?  despise  low  joys,  low  gains; 
Disdain  whatever  Cornbury  disdains:6 
Be  virtuous,  and  be  happy  for  your  pains. 

But  art  thou  one,  whom  new  opinions  sway, 
One  who  believes  as  TindaF  leads  the  way, 
Who  virtue  and  a  church  alike  disowns, 
Thinks  that  but  words,  and  this  but  brick  and  stones  ? 
Fly  then,  on  all  the  wings  of  wild  desire, 
Admire  whate'er  the  maddest  can  admire. 
Is  wealth  thy  passion?     Hence !  from  pole  to  pole, 
Where  winds  can  carry,  or  where  waves  can  roll, 
For  Indian  spices,  for  Peruvian  gold, 
Prevent  the  greedy,  and  outbid  the  bold: 
Advance  thy  golden  mountain  to  the  skies; 

1  His  father  had  been  in  a  low  situation;*  but,  by  industry  and 
ability,  got  to  be  postmaster-general  and  agent  to  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough. —  War  ton,  quoted  by  Boiules. 

2  It  is  said  that  Pope  was  Murray's  instructor  in  the  art  of  elocu- 
tion. 

3  Murray  was  successful  as  counsel  in  appeals  before  the  House 
of  Lords  in  eleven  causes  in  1738. 

*  The  great  Lord  Chancellor  Clarendon. 

5  Both  celebrated,  quacks.    Dover  professed  to  cure  all  diseases  by 
means  of  quicksilver. — Roscoe. 

6  Lord  Cornbury  was  the  great  Lord  Clarendon's  great  grandson. 
He  tried  to  persuade  Mallet  not  to  publish  the  work  which  has  so 
deeply  injured  Bolingbroke's  memory.    On  his  return  from  his 
travels,  Lord  Essex,  his  brother-in-law,  said  to  him,  "  I  have  got 
you  a  handsome  pension."    The  young  man  answered  with  com- 
posed dignity,  "  How  could  you  tell,  my  lord,  that  I  was  to  be  sold?  " 
To  this  anecdote  Pope  alludes. 

7  Tindal.    See  previous  note  at  page  148. 


*  It  is  said  a  footman. 


SATIEES.      .  295 

On  the  broad  base  of  fifty  thousand  rise, 
Add  one  round  hundred,  and  (if  that's  not  fair) 
Add  fifty  more,  and  bring  it  to  a  square. 
For,  mark  th'  advantage;  just  so  many  score 
Will  gain  a  wife  with  half  as  many  more, 
Procure  her  beauty,  make  that  beauty  chaste, 
i  And  then  such  friends — as  cannot  fail  to  last. 
A  man  of  wealth  is  dubbed  a  man  of  worth, 
Venus  shall  give  him  form,  and  Anstis1  birth. 
(Believe  me,  many  a  German  Prince  is  worse, 
Who  proud  of  pedigree,  is  poor  of  purse.) 
His  wealth  brave  Timon  gloriously  confounds; 
Asked  for  a  groat,  he  gives  a  hundred  pounds; 
Or  if  three  ladies  like  a  luckless  play, 
Takes  the  whole  house  upon  the  poet's  day. 
Now,  in  such  exigencies  not  to  need, 
Upon  my  word,  you  must  be  rich  indeed; 
A  noble  superfluity  it  craves, 
Not  for  yourself,  but  for  your  fools  and  knaves; 
Something,  which  for  your  honour  they  may  cheat, 
And  which  it  much  becomes  you  to  forget, 
If  wealth  alone  then  make  and  keep  us  blest, 
Still,  still  be  getting,  never,  never  rest. 

But  if  to  pow'r  and  place  your  passion  lie, 
If  in  the  pomp  of  life  consist  the  joy; 
Then  hire  a  slave,  or  (if  you  will)  a  lord 
To  do  the  honours,  and  to  give  the  word; 
Tell  at  your  levee,  as  the  crowds  approach, 
To  whom  to  nod,  whom  take  into  your  coach, 
Whom  honour  with  your  hand:  to  make  remarks, 
Who  rules  in  Cornwall,  or  who  rules  in  Berks: 
"This  may  be  troublesome,  is  near  the  chair; 
That  makes  three  members,  this  can  choose  a  may'r." 
Instructed  thus,  you  bow,  embrace,  protest, 
Adopt  him  son,  or  cousin  at  the  least, 
Then  turn  about,  and  laugh  at  your  own  jest. 

Or  if  your  life  be  one  continued  treat, 
If  to  live  well  means  nothing  but  to  eat; 
Up,  up !  cries  gluttony,  'tis  break  of  day, 
Go  drive  the  deer,  and  drag  the  finny  prey; 
With  hounds  and  horns  go  hunt  an  appetite — 
So  Russel  did,  but  could  not  eat  at  night, 

*  Anstis,  whom  Pope  often  mentions,  was  Garter  King  at  Arms.— 
Bowles. 


296  SATIRES. 

Called  happy  dog!  the  beggar  at  his  door, 
And  envied  thirst  and  hunger  to  the  poor. 

Or  shall  we  every  decency  confound, 
Through  taverns,  stews,  and  bagnios,  take  our  round, 
Go  dine  with  Chartres,1  in  each  vice  outdo 
Kinnoul's  lewd  cargo,  or  Tyrawley's  crew,2 
From  Latian  syrens,  French  Circeaii  feasts, 
Return  woll  travelled,  and  transformed  to  beasts, 
Or  for  a  titled  punk,  or  foreign  flame, 
Renounce  our  country,  and  degrade  our  name  ? 

If,  after  all,  we  must  with  Wilmot3  own, 
The  cordial  drop  of  life  is  love  alone, 
And  Swift  cry  wisely,  "  Vive  la  bagatelle !  " 
The  man  that  loves  and  laughs,  must  sure  do  well 
Adieu — if  this  advice  appear  the  worst, 
E'en  take  the  counsel  which  I  gave  you  first: 
Or  better  precepts  if  you  can  impart, 
Why  do,  I'll  follow  them  with  all  my  heart. 


THE  FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THE 

SECOND    BOOK    OF    HORACE. 

Ne  rubeam  pingui  donatus  munere.— Horace. 
1737. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  reflections  of  Horace,  and  the  judgments  passed  in  his 
epistle  to  Augustus,  seeuied  so  seasonable  to  the  present  times, 
that  I  could  not  help  applying  them  to  the  use  of  my  own 
country.  The  author  thought  them  considerable  enough  to 
address  them  to  his  prince :  whom  he  paints  with  all  the  great 
and  good  qualities  of  a  monarch,  upon  whom  the  Romans  de- 
pended for  the  increase  of  an  absolute  empire.  But  to  make 
the  poem  entirely  English,  I  was  willing  to  add  one  or  two  of 
those  which  contribute  to  the  happiness  of  a  free  people,  and 
are  more  consistent  with  the  welfare  of  our  neighbors. 

i  See  note  to  **  Essay  on  the  Use  of  Riches,"  p.  240. 

a  Lords  Kinnoul  and  Tyrawley,  noted  for  immorality.—  Carrutherg, 

9  Lord  Rochester* 


SATIRES.  297 

This  epistle  will  show  the  learned  world  to  have  fallen  into 
two  mistakes :  one,  that  Augustus  was  a  patron  of  poets  in 
general ;  whereas  he  not  only  prohibited  all  but  the  best  writers 
to  name  him,  but  recommended  that  care  even  to  the  civil 
magistrate :  Admonebat  Pr&tores,  ne  paterentur  nomen  suum 
obsolefieri,  &c.  The  other,  that  this  piece  was  only  a  general 
discourse  of  poetry ;  whereas  it  was  an  apology  for  the  poets, 
in  order  to  render  Augustus  more  their  patron.  Horace  here 
pleads  the  cause  of  his  contemporaries,  first  against  the  taste 
of  the  town,  whose  humour  it  was  to  magnify  the  authors  of 
the  preceding  age :  secondly  against  the  court  and  nobility, 
who  encouraged  only  the  writers  for  the  theatre ;  and  lastly 
against  the  emperor  himself,  who  had  conceived  them  of  little 
use  to  the  government.  He  shows  (by  a  view  of  the  progress 
of  learning,  and  the  change  of  taste  among  the  Romans)  that 
the  introduction  of  the  polite  arts  of  Greece  had  given  the 
writers  of  his  time  great  advantages  over  their  predecessors ; 
that  their  morals  were  much  improved,  and  the  license  of 
those  ancient  poets  restrained :  that  satire  and  comedy  were 
become  more  just  and  useful ;  that  whatever  extravagancies 
were  left  on  the  stage  were  owing  to  the  ill  taste  of  the 
xipbility;  that  poets,  under  due  regulations,  were  in  many  re- 
spects useful  to  the  state,  and  concludes,  that  it  was  upon 
£hem  the  emperor  himself  must  depend  for  his  fame  with 
posterity. 

We  may  further  learn  from  this  epistle,  that  Horace  made 
his  court  to  this  great  prince  by  writing  with  a  decent  free- 
dom towards  him,  with  a  just  contempt  of  his  low  flatterers, 
and  with  a  manly  regard  to  his  own  character. — Pope. 


EPISTLE  L 
TO  AUGUSTUS.1 

WHILE  you,  great  patron  of  mankind !  sustain 
The  balanced  world,  and  open  all  the  Main  ;2 
Your  country,  chief,  in  arms  abroad  defend, 
At  home,  with  morals,  arts,  and  laws  amend  ; 

1  Pope,  by  bitter  and  pointed  sarcasms,  turned  the  flattery  of 
Horace  to  Augustus  Caesar  into  a  satire  on  George  II. 

2  This  epistle  was  written  in  1737,  when  the  Spanish  depredations 
at  sea  were  such,  that  there  was  a  universal  cry.  that  the  British 
fla£  had  been  insulted,  and  the  contemptible  and  degraded  English 
braved  on  their  own  element.     "  Opening  .all  the  Main"   therefore, 
means  that    the    king  was  so  liberal  as  to  leave  it  open  to  the 
Spaniards,  who  considered  themselves  its  almost  exclusive  masters. 
It  was  not  till  two  years  afterwards  that  the  long-demanded  war  was 
declared;  hence  the  bitter  irony  of  "your  country,  chief,  in  arms 
abroad  defend." 


298  SATIRES. 

How  shall  the  muse,  from  such  a  monarch,  steal 
An  hour,  and  not  defraud  the  public  weal  ? 

Edward  and  Henry,  now  the  boast  of  fame. 
And  virtuous  Alfred,  a  more  sacred  name, 
After  a  life  of  gen'rous  toils  endured, 
The  Gaul  subdued,  or  property  secured, 
Ambition  humbled,  mighty  cities  stormed, 
Or  laws  established,  and  the  world  reformed ; 
Closed  their  long  glories  with  a  sigh  to  find 
Th'  unwilling  gratitude  of  base  mankind ! 
All  human  virtue,  to  its  latest  breath, 
Finds  Envy  never  conquered  but  my  death. 
The  great  Alcides,  ev'ry  labour  past, 
Had  still  this  monster  to  subdue  at  last. 
Sure  fate  of  all,  beneath  whose  rising  ray 
Each  star  of  meaner  merit  fades  away ! 
Oppressed  we  feel  the  beam  directly  beat, 
Those  suns  of  glory  please  not  till  they  set. 

To  thee,  the  world  its  present  homage  pays, 
The  harvest  early,  but  mature  the  praise  : 
Great  friend  of  liberty !  in  kings  a  name 
Above  all  Greek,  above  all  Roman  fame  : 
Whose  word  is  truth,  as  sacred  as  revered, 
As  heav'n's  own  oracles  from  altars  heard. 
Wonder  of  kings !  like  whom,  to  mortal  eyes 
None  e'er  has  risen,  and  none  e'er  shall  rise. 

Just  in  one  instance,  be  it  yet  confest 
Your  people,  sir,  are  partial  in  the  rest : 
Foes  to  all  living  worth  except  your  own, 
And  advocates  for  folly  dead  and  gone. 
Authors,  like  coins,  grow  dear  as  they  grow  old, 
It  is  the  rust  we  value,  not  the  gold. 
Chaucer's  worst  ribaldry  is  learned  by  rote, 
And  beastly  Skelton  heads  of  houses  quote  :l 
One  likes  no  language  but  the  Faery  Queen  ; 
A  Scot  will  fight  for  "Christ's  KirkV  the  Green ;2 
And  each  true  Briton  is  to  Ben  so  civil, 
He  swears  the  muses  met  him  at  the  Devil.3 


1  Skelton,  poet  laureate  to  Henry  VIII.,  a  volume  of  whose  verses 
has  been  lately  reprinted,  consisting  almost  wholly  of  ribaldry,  ob- 
scenity, and  scurrilous  language./— Pope. 

2  A  ballad  made  by  the  King  of  Scotland.    Written  by  James  I.— 
Pope. 

3  The  Devil  Tavern,  where  Ben  Jonson  held  his  Poetical  Club.— 
Pope. 


SATIRES.  299 

Though  justly  Greece  her  eldest  sons  admires, 
Why  should  not  we  be  wiser  than  our  sires  ? 
In  ev'ry  public  virtue  we  excel ; 
We  build,  we  paint,  we  sing,  we  dance  as  well, 
And  learned  Athens  to  our  art  must  stoop, 
Could  she  behold  us  tumbling  through  a  hoop. 

If  time  improve  our  wit  as  well  as  wine, 
Say  at  what  age  a  poet  grows  divine  ? 
Shall  we,  or  shall  we  not,  account  him  so, 
Who  died,  perhaps,  a  hundred  years  ago  ? 
End  all  dispute  ;  and  fix  the  year  precise 
When  British  bards  begin  t'  immortalise  ? 

"  Who  lasts  a  century  can  have  no  flaw, 
I  hold  that  wit  a  classic,  good  in  law." 

Suppose  he  wants  a  year,  wih1  you  compound  ? 
And  shall  we  deem  him  ancient,  right  and  sound, 
Or  damn  to  all  eternity  at  once, 
At  riinty-nine,  a  modern  and  a  dunce, 

"  We  shah1  not  quarrel  for  a  year  or  two  ; 
By  courtesy  of  England,1  he  may  do." 

Then  by  the  rule  that  made  the  horse-tail  bare,8 
I  pluck  out  year  by  year,  as  hair  by  hair, 
And  melt  down  ancients  like  a  heap  of  snow; 
While  you  to  measure  merits,  look  in  Stowe, 
And  estimating  authors  by  the  year, 
Bestow  a  garland  only  on  a  bier. 

Shakespeare3  (whom  you  and  every  play-house  bill 
Style  the  divine,  the  matchless,  what  you  will) 
For  gain,  not  glory,  winged  his  roving  flight, 


1  Courtesy  of  England,  a  legal  term  for  a  law  of  custom. 

2  The  story  to  which  Pope  alludes  is  told  in  Plutarch's  Life  of 
Sertorius.    To  show  to  his  troops  that  ingenuity  was  greater  than 
force,  ond  perseverance   than  rash  violence,  he  had  two  horses 
brought  into  the  field  :  one  old  and   feeble ;  the  other  strong  and 
young,  with  a  very  thick  long  tail.    He  desired  a  strong  soldier  to 
pull  out  the  tail  of  the  old  horse.    The  man  did  his  best  to  obey,  by 
grasping  it  with  both  his  hands  and  pulling  with  all  his  strength, 
but  in  vain. 

Sertorius,  meantime  desired  a  very  weak  and  small  man  to  pull 
out  the  tail  of  the  strong  horse.  He  instantly  began  to  pull  out  the 
hairs  one  by  one,  and  "  when  the  strong  man  had  laboured  much 
in  vain,"  says  the  biographer,  "  and  made  himself  the  jest  of  all 
the  spectators,  he  gave  over.  But  the  weak  pitiful  man  in  a  short 
time  and  with  little  pains  had  left  not  a  single  hair  on  the  great 
horse's  tail." 

3  Shakespeare  and  Ben  Jonson  may  truly  be  said  not  much  to 
have  thought  of  this  immortality,  the  one  in  many  pieces  composed 
in  haste  for  the  stage ;  the  other  in  his  latter  works  in  general. 
Which  Drydeu  called  his  Dotages,— ^ 


300  SATIRES. 

And  grew  immortal  in  his  own  despite. 
Ben,  old  and  poor,  as  little  seemed  to  heed 
The  life  to  come,  in  every  poet's  creed. 
Who  now  reads  Cowley  ?  if  he  pleases  yet, 
His  moral  pleases,  not  his  pointed  wit; 
Forget  his  epic,  nay  Pindaric  art;1 
But  still  I  love  the  language  of  his  heart. 

"  Yet  surely,  surely,  these  were  famous  men 
What  boy  but  hears  the  sayings  of  old  Ben? 
In  all  debates  where  critics  bear  a  part, 
Not  one  but  nods,  and  talks  of  Jonson's  art, 
Of  Shakespeare's  nature,  and  of  Cowley 's  wit; 
How  Beaumont's  judgment  checked  what  Fletcher 

writ; 

How  Shad  well  hasty,2  Wycherly  was  slow; 
But  for  the  passions,  Southern3  sure  and  Kowe. 
These,  only  these,  support  the  crowded  stage, 
From  eldest  Heywood4  down  to  Gibber's  age." 

All  this  may  be;  the  people's  voice  is  odd, 
It  is,  and  it  is  not,  the  voice  of  God. 
To  Gammer  Gurton,*  if  it  give  the  bays, 
And  yet  deny  the  Careless  Husband 6  praise, 
Or  say  our  fathers  never  broke  a  rule; 
Why  then,  I  say,  the  public  is  a  fool. 
But  let  them  own,  that  greater  faults  than  we 

1  Which  has  much  more  merit  than  his  epic,  but  very  unlike 
the  character,  as  well  as  numbers  of  Pindar. — Pope. 

t  Nothing  was  less  true  than  this  particular :  But  the  whole  para- 
graph has  a  mixture  of  irony,  and  must  not  altogether  be  taken  for 
Horace's  own  judgment,  only  the  common  chat  of  the  pretenders  to 
criticism  :  in  some  things  right,  in  others  wrong :  as  he  tells  us  in 
his  answer. 

Interdura  vulgus  rectum  videt :  est  ubi  peccat. — Pope. 

Thomas  Shadwell,  an  English  poet,  was  born  1640,  died  1726.  At  the 
revolution  he  was  made  poet  laureate  in  the  place  of  Dryden,  who 
resented  the  appointment  by  the  severest  satire  in  his  MacFlecknoe. 
He  wrote  seventeen  plays. 

William  Wychlerly,  an  eminent  comic  dramatist,  born  1640,  died  1715. 

3  Southern    was    born    at    Stratford- on- A  von    1660,   died    1746.    A 
dramatist  of  some  celebrity,  author  of  Oronooko,  Isabella.  &c.    Nicho- 
las Howe,  a  dramatist ;  his  best  known  plays  are  the  fi  Fair  Penitent." 
aiid  "  Jane  Shore."    He  was  poet  laureate'  to  George  I.    He  was  born 
1673,  and  died  1718,  lamented  by  Pope  and  all  his  friends. 

4  Heywood,  an  Elizabethan  dramatist.    Charles  Lamb  describes  him 
as  a  kind  of  prose  Shakespeare.    He  wrote  220  dramas,  but  only  25  are 
now  in  existence. 

5  A  piece  of  very  low  humour,   one  of  the  first  printed  plays  in 
English,  and  therefore  much  valued  by  some  antiquaries. — Pope. 

6  Gibber's   "Careless  Husband,"  a  very  celebrated  pi  ay.    Mrs.  Old- 
field  won  her  fame  as  lady  Betty  Modish,  one  of  the  characters  in  it, 


SATIRES.  301 

They  had,  and  greater  virtues,  I'll  agree. 
Spenser  himself  affects  the  obsolete, 
And  Sidney's  verse  halts  ill  on  Roman  feet: l 
Milton's  strong  pinion  now  not  heav'n  can  bound, 
Now  serpent-like,  in  prose  he  sweeps  the  ground, 
In  quibbles  angel  and  archangel  join, 
And  God  the  Father  turns  a  school-divine. 
Not  that  I'd  lop  the  beauties  from  his  book, 
Like  slashing  Bentley  with  his  desperate  hook, 
Or  damn  all  Shakespeare,  like  th'  affected  fool 
At  court,  who  hates  whatever  he  read  at  school. 

But  for  the  wits  of  either  Charles's  days, 
The  mob  of  gentlemen  who  wrote  with  ease; 
Sprat,2  Carew,3  Sedley,4  and  a  hundred  more, 
(Like  twinkling  stars  the  miscellanies  o'er) 
One  simile,  that  solitary  shines 

In  the  dry  desert  of  a  thousand  lines,  [page> 

Or  lengthened  thought  that  gleams  through  many  a 
Has  sanctified  whole  poems  for  an  age. 
I  lose  my  patience,  and  I  own  it  too, 
When  works  are  censured,  not  as  bad  but  new; 
While  if  our  elders  break  all  reason's  laws, 
These  fools  demand  not  pardon,  but  applause. 

On  Avon's  bank,  where  flowers  eternal  blow, 
If  I  but  ask,  if  any  weed  can  grow  ; 
One  tragic  sentence  if  I  dare  deride 
Which  Betterton's 5  grave  action  dignified, 
Or  well-mouthed  Booth  °  with  emphasis  proclaims, 
(Though  but,  perhaps,  a  muster-roll  of  names 7) 

1  As  in  this  example  from  the  Arcadia : 

If  the  sphere's  senseless  yet  doth  hold  a  music. 
If  the  swan's  sweet  voice  be  not  heard  but  at  death, 
If  the  mute  timber  when  it  hath  the  life  lost. 
Yieldeth  a  lute's  tone.—  Warton. 

2  Thomas  Sprat,  Bishop  of  Rochester,  the  friend  of  Cowley. 

3  Thomas  Carew,  a  gentleman  of  the  Privy  Chamber  to  Charles  I. 
He  was  the  friend  of  Ben  Jonson  and  Daveuant,  and  wrote  some  very 
pretty  poems ;  he  died  about  1639. 

4  Sir  Charles  Sedley  was  born  1639.    He  was  one  of  the  wits  of 
Charles  II.'s  Court.    His  works  consist  of  songs,  plays,    &c.    The 
favourite  song,  "Shall  I,  wasting  in  desoair,"  is  ascribed  to  Sedley. 
He  died  1701. 

5  Thomas  Betterton  was  an  actor  of  great  eminence,  born  1635,  died 
1710.     Steelein  No.  167  of  the  "Tatler"  laments  the  death  of  this  dis- 
tinguished actor  and  good  man. 

6  Barton  Booth,  celebrated  as  an  actor,  was  born  1681.    He  was  a 
Westminster  scholar,  and  his  genius  for  acting  was  first  developed  by 
the  Latin  plays  acted  by  that  school.     He  died  1733. 

7  An  absurd  custom  of  several  actors,  to  pronounce  with  emphasis 
the  mere  proper  names  of  Greeks  or  Romans,  which  (as  they  call  it)  nil 
tke  mouth  of  the  player. — Pope. 


302  SATIRES. 

How  will  our  fathers  rise  up  in  a  rage, 
And  swear,  all  shame  is  lost  in  George's  age ! 
You'd  think  no  fools  disgraced  the  former  reign, 
Did  not  some  grave  examples  yet  remain, 
Who  scorn  a  lad  should  teach  his  father  skill, 
And,  having  once  been  wrong,  will  be  so  still. 
He,  who  to  seem  more  deep  than  you  or  I, 
Extols  old  bards,  or  Merlin's  prophecy, 
Mistake  him  not;  he  envies,  not  admires, 
And  to  debase  the  sons,  exalts  the  sires. 
Had  ancient  times  conspired  to  disallow 
What  then  was  new,  what  had  been  ancient  now  ? 
Or  what  remained,  so  worthy  to  be  read 
By  learned  critics,  of  the  mighty  dead  ? 

In  days  of  ease,  when  now  the  weary  sword 
Was  sheathed,  ar  i  luxury  with  Charles  restored; 
In  ev'ry  taste  of  foreign  courts  improved, 
"All,  by  the  king's  example,  lived  and  loved."  * 
Then  peers  grew  proud  in  horsemanship  t'  excel/ 
Newmarket's  glory  rose,  as  Britain's  fell; 
The  soldier  breathed  the  gallantries  of  France 
And  ev'ry  flowery  courtier  writ  romance. 
Then  marble,  softened  into  life,  grew  warm: 
And  yielding  metal  flowed  to  human  form: 
Lely  on  animated  canvas  stole 
The  sleepy  eye,  that  spoke  the  melting  soul 
No  wonder  then,  when  all  was  love  and  sport, 
The  willing  Muses  were  debauched  at  court: 
On  each  enervate  string  they  taught  the  note 3 
To  pant,  or  tremble  through  a  eunuch's  throat. 

But  Britain,  changeful  as  a  child  at  play, 
Now  calls  in  princes,  and  now  turns  away. 
Now  Whig,  now  Tory,  what  we  loved  we  hate; 
Now  all  for  pleasure,  now  for  Church  and  State; 
.Now  for  prerogative,  and  now  for  laws; 
Effects  unhappy !  from  a  noble  cause. 

Time  was,  a  sober  Englishman  would  knock 
His  servants  up,  and  rise  by  five  o'clock, 


1  A  verse  of  the  Lord  Lansdown. — Pope. 

2  The  Duke  of  Newcastle's  book  of  horsemanship:    the  romnnce 
of  Parthenissa,  by  the  Earl  of  Orrery,  and  most  of  the  French  romances 
translated  by  persons  of  quality. — Pope. 

3  The  siege  of  Rhodes,  by  Sir  William  Daveuant  the  first  opera  sung 
in  England.— Pope. 


SATIBES.  303 

Instruct  his  family  in  ev'ry  rule, 

And  send  his  wife  to  church,  his  son  to  school. 

To  worship  like  his  fathers,  was  his  care; 

To  teach  their  frugal  virtues  to  his  heir; 

To  prove,  that  luxury  could  never  hold; 

And  place,  on  good  security,  his  gold. 

Now  times  are  changed,  and  one  poetic  itch 

Has  seized  the  court  and  city,  poor  and  rich: 

Sons,  sires,  and  grandsires,  all  will  wear  the  bays, 

Our  wives  read  Milton,  and  our  daughters  plays, 

To  theatres,  and  to  rehearsals  throng, 

And  all  our  grace  at  table  is  a  song. 

I,  who  so  oft  renounce  the  Muses,  lie, 

Not 's  self  e'er  tells  more  fibs  than  I; 

When  sick  of  muse,  our  follies  we  deplore, 
And  promise  our  best  friends  to  rhyme  no  more; 
We  wake  next  morning  in  a  raging  fit, 
And  call  for  pen  and  ink  to  show  our  wit. 

He  served  a  'prenticeship,  who  sets  up  shop; 
Ward  tried  on  puppies,  and  the  poor,  his  drop;  * 
Even  KadcliiFs  doctors  travel  first  to  France, 
Nor  dare  to  practise  till  they've  learned  to  dance.2 
Who  builds  a  bridge  that  never  drove  a  pile  ? 
(Should  Eipley  venture,  all  the  world  would  smile)* 
But  those  who  cannot  write,  and  those  who  can, 
All  rhyme,  and  scrawl,  and  scribble,  to  a  man. 

Yet,  sir,  reflect,  the  mischie'f  is  not  great; 
These  madmen  never  hurt  the  Church  or  state. 
Sometimes  the  folly  benefits  mankind; 
And  rarely  av'rice  taints  the  tuneful  mind. 
Allow  him  but  his  plaything  of  a  pen, 
He  ne'er  rebels,  or  plots,  like  other  men: 
Flight  of  cashiers,4  or  mobs,  he'll  never  mind; 
And  knows  no  losses  while  the  muse  is  kind. 
To  cheat  a  friend,  -or  ward,  he  leaves  to  Peter;5 

*  A  famous  empiric,  whose  pill  and  <lrop  had  several  surprising 
effects,  and  were  one  of  the  principal  subjects  of  writing  and  con  versa 
tion  at  this  time. — Pope. 

2  They  visited  France  to  examine  into  the  medic.il  science  of  that 
country,  which  has  always  been  remarkable. 

3  Ripley  was  a  celebrated  architecht  of  the  time,  and  was  employed 
by  Sir  Robert  Walpole.     He  built  the  beautiful  house  in  Houghton 
Park,  Beds;  now  in  ruins,  but  still  showing  what  it  was. 

4  Alluding  to  the  flight  of  Mr.  Knight,  one  of  the  cashiers  of  the 
South  Sea  Company,  by  which  Pope  was  a  considerable  loser. —  Warton. 

5  The  fiaeiid,  perhaps,  was  George  Pitt,  of  Shroton,  in  the  county  of 


304  SATIRES. 

The  good  man  heaps  up  nothing  but  mere  metre, 
Enjoys  his  garden  and  his  books  in  quiet; 
And  then — a  perfect  hermit  in  his  diet. 

Of  little  use  the  man  you  may  suppose 
Who  says  in  verse  what  others  say  in  prose; 
Yet  let  me  show,  a  poet's  of  some  weight, 
And  (though  no  soldier)  useful  to  the  state.1 
What  will  a  child  learn  sooner  than  a  song? 
What  better  teach  a  foreigner  the  tongue  ? 
What's  long  or  short,  each  accent  where  to  place, 
And  speak  in  public  with  some  sort  of  grace  ? 
I  scarce  can  think  him  such  a  worthless  thing, 
Unless  he  praise  some  monster  of  a  king; 
Or  virtue  or  religion  turn  to  sport, 
To  please  a  lewd  or  unbelieving  court. 
Unhappy  Dryden ! — In  all  Charles's  days, 
Roscommon  only  boasts  unspotted  bays; 
And  in  our  own  (excuse  some  courtly  stains) 
No  whiter  page  than  Addison  remains. 
He,  from  the  taste  obscene  reclaims  our  youth, 
And  sets  the  passions  on  the  side  of  truth, 
Forms  the  soft  bosom  writh  the  gentlest  art, 
And  pours  each  human  virtue  in  the  heart. 
Let  Ireland  tell,  how  wit  upheld  her  cause, 
Her  trade  supported,  and  supplied  her  laws; 
And  leave  on  Swift  this  grateful  verse  engraved: 
"  The  rights  a  court  attacked,  a  poet  saved." 
Behold  the  hand  that  wrought  a  nation's  cure, 
Stretched  to  relieve  the  idiot  and  the  poor,2 
Proud  vice  to  brand,  or  injured  worth  adorn, 
And  stretch  the  ray  to  ages  yet  unborn. 


Dorset.  He  lived  abroad,  and  entrusted  the  management  of  his  estates 
to  Peter  Walter.  Peter  went  down  only  once  a  year  to  Shroton  to 
receive  the  annual  rents,  at  the  same  time  he  visited  his  own  estate  in 
Dorsetshire,  yet  he  had  £400  a  year  for  his  trouble,  and  then  charged 
£800  for  extra  expenses. — Bowles. 

1  Horace  had  not  acquitted  himself  much  to  his  credit  in  this  capacity 
(non  bene  relicta  parmula)  in  the  battle  of  Philippi.  It  is  manifest  ho 
alludes  to  himself,  in  tliis  whole  account  of  a  poet's  character;  but 
with  an  intermixture  of  irony :  Vivit  siliquis  et  pane  secundo  has  a  rela- 
tion to  this  epicurism  ;  Os  tenerum  pueri,  is  ridicule:  the  nobler  office 
of  a  poet  follows.  Torquet  ab  obsccenis — Mox  etiam  pectus — Recte  facto, 
refert,  c£c.,  which  the  imitator  has  applied  where  he  thinks  it  more  due 
than  to  himself.  He  hopes  to  be  pardoned,  if,  as  he  is  sincerely  inclined 
to  praise  what  deserves  to  be  praised,  he  arraigns  what  deserves  to  be 
arraigned,  in  the  210,  211,  and  212th  verses.— Pope. 

a  A  foundation  for  the  maintenance  of  idiots,  and  a  fund  for  assisting 
the  poor,  by  lending  small  sums  of  money  ou  demand.—  Pope, 


SATIEES.  305 

Not  but  there  are,  who  merit  other  palms; 
Hopkins  and  Sternhold1  glad  the  heart  with  psalms; 
The  boys  and  girls  whom  charity  maintains, 
Implore  your  help  in  these  pathetic  strains: 
How  could  devotion  touch  the  country  pews, 
•Unless  the  gods  bestowed  a  proper  muse  ? 
Verse  cheers  their  leisure,  verse  assists  their  work, 
Verse  prays  for  peace,  or  sings  down  Pope  and  Turk. 
The  silenced  preacher  yields  to  potent  strain, 
And  feels  that  grace  his  pray'r  besought  in  vain; 
The  blessing  thrills  through  all  the  lab'ring  throng, 
And  heaven  is  won  by  violence  of  song. 

Our  rural  ancestors,  with  little  blest, 
Patient  of  labour  when  the  end  was  rest, 
Indulged  the  day  that  housed  their  annual  grain, 
With  feasts,  and  off 'rings,  and  a  thankful  strain: 
The  joy  their  wives,  their  sons,  and  servants  share, 
Ease  of  their  toil,  and  partners  of  their  care: 
The  laugh,  the  jest,  attendants  on  the  bowl, . 
Smoothed  ev'ry  brow,  and  opened  ev'ry  soul: 
With  growing  years  the  pleasing  license  grew, 
And  taunts  alternate  innocently  flew. 
But  times  corrupt,  and  nature,  ill-inclined, 
Produced  the  point  that  left  a  sting  behind; 
Till  friend  with  friend,  and  families  at  strife, 
Triumphant  malice  raged  through  private  life. 
Who  felt  the  wrong,  or  feared  it,  took  th'  alarm, 
Appealed  to  law,  and  justice  lent  her  arm. 
At  length  by  wholesome  dread  of  statutes  bound, 
The  poets  learned  to  please,  and  not  to  wround: 
Most  warped  to  flatt'ry's  side;  but  some,  more  nice, 
Preserved  the  freedom,  and  forebore  the  vice. 
Hence  Satire  rose,  that  just  the  medium  hit, 
And  heals  with  morals  what  it  hurts  with  wit. 

We  conquered  France,  but  felt  our. captive's  charms; 
Her  arts  victorious  triumphed  o'er  our  arms; 
Britain  to  soft  refinements  less  a  foe, 
Wit  grew  polite,  and  numbers  learned  to  flow. 

1  In  the  year  1570  Clement  Marot  made  a  musical  French  version  of 
the  Psalms,  with  the  hope  of  substituting  them  for  the  chansons 
d'amour,  then  fashionable  at  the  court  of  Francis  I.  He  was  perfectly 
successful,  and  even  Diane  de  Poitiers  had  her  favourite  Psalm,  "How 
pants  the  hart!"  Thomas  Sternhold,  groom  of  the  bedchamber  to 
Edward  VI.,  hoped  to  do  the  same  for  the  English  Court,  and  assisted, 
by  John  Hopkins,  a  school-master  in  Suffolk,  translated  the  Psulwq 
iuto  English.  This  translation  ia  called  the  old  version. 


306  SATIRES. 

Waller  was  smooth;1  but  Dry  den  taught  to  join 
The  varying  verse,  the  full-resounding  line, 
The  long  majestic  march,  and  energy  divine. 
Though  still  same  traces  of  our  rustic  vein 
And  splay-foot  verse,  remained,  and  will  remain. 
Latej  very  late,  correctness  grew  our  care, 
"When  the  tired  nation  breathed  from  civil  war. 
Exact  Racine,2  and  Corneille's  noble  fire, 
Showed  us  that  France  had  something  to  admire. 
Not  but  the  tragic  spirit  was  our  own, 
And  full  in  Shakespeare,  fair  in  Otway3  shone: 
But  Otway  failed  to  polish  or  refine, 

^^Jlnd  fluent  Shakespeare  scarce  effaced  a  line. 
Even  copious  Dryden  wanted,  or  forgot, 

l^The  last  and  greatest  art, — the  art  to  blot. 

Some  doubt,  if  equal  pains,  or  equal  fire 
The  humbler  muse  of  comedy  require. 
But  in  known  images  of  life,  I  guess 
The  labour  greater,  as  th'  indulgence  less. 
Observe  how  seldom  even  the  best  succeed: 
Tell  me  if  Congreve's 4  fools  are  fools  indeed  ? 
What  pert,  low  dialogue  has  Farquhar  writ ! 5 
How  "Van6  wants  grace,  who  never  wanted  wit? 
The  stage  how  loosely  does  Astrsea  tread,7 

1  Mr.  Waller,  about  this  time  with  the  Earl  of  Dorset,  Mr  Godolphin, 
and  others,  translated  the  "Pompey"  of  Covneille;  and  the  more  cor- 
rect French  poets  began  to  be  in  reputation.— Pope. 

2  Jean  Racine,  the  great  French  dramatist,  was  born  1639  and  died 
1699.    His  "Phaedre,"  "Britaunicus,"  "Athalie,"  &c..  are  well  known. 

Pierre  Corneille  was  born  1606.  He  was  an  earlier  dramatist  than 
Racine,  and  is  thought  by  the  French  more  sublime.  His  "  Cid,"  "Les 
Horaces,"  &c.,  are  as  famous  as  our  own  Shakespeare's  plays  on  the 
Continent.  He  died  1684. 

3  Thomas  Otway  was  born  1651.    His  master  pieces   were   "  The 
Orphan,"  and  "Venice  Preserved."    It  is  said  this  poor  genius  died  of 
want,   1685.    There  is  a  sad  story  told  of  his  begging  a  shilling  of  a 
gentleman,  who  gave  him  a  guinea.    Otway  bought  a  roll,  and  eating 
too  eagerly  was  choked  by  the  first  mouthful. 

4  William  Congrove  was  a  popular  comic  dramatist,  born  1670.    The 
immoral  tone  of  his  comedies  drew  on  him  the  censure  of  Jeremy 
Collier,  the  zealous  reformer  of  the  stage.    Congreve  made  a  good  for- 
tune, but  despised  the  profession  in  which  he  had  been  so  successful. 
He  died  1729.    Voltaire  said  that  Congreve  had  raised  the  glory  of 
English  comedy  to  a  greater  height  than  any  dramatist  who  had  pre- 
ceded him. 

5  Pope  alludes  to  the  characters  of  Brisk  and  "Witwood. 

George  Farquhar,  boru  1678,  died  1707.  His  comedies  were  witty 
but  very  indelicate. 

6  Sir  John  Yaubrugh,   died  1726.    He  was  a  witty   but    immoral 
dramatist. 

7  A  name  taken  by  Mrs.  Behn,  authoress  of  several  obscene  plavS| 
&c,— Pope.  ... 


SATIRES.  307 

Who  fairly  puts  all  characters  to  bed ! 
And  idle  Gibber,  how  he  breaks  the  laws, 
To  make  poor  Pinky  eat  with  vast  applause ! l 
But  fill  their  purse,  our  poet's  work  is  done, 
Alike  to  them,  by  pathos  or  by  pun. 

O  you !  whom  vanity's  light  bark  conveys 
On  fame's  mad  voyage  by  the  wind  of  praise, 
With  what  a  shifting  gale  your  course  you  ply, 
For  ever  sunk  too  low,  or  borne  too  high ! 
Who  pants  for  glory  finds  but  short  repose, 
A  breath  revives  him,  or  a  breath  o'erthrows. 
Farewell  the  stage !  if  just  as  thrives  the  play, 
The  silly  bard  grows  fat,  or  fails  away. 

There  still  remains,  to  mortify  a  wit, 
The  many-headed  monster  of  the  pit; 
A  senseless,  worthless,  and  unhonoured  crowd; 
Who,  to  disturb  their  betters  mighty  proud, 
Clatt'ring  their  sticks  before  ten  lines  are  spoke. 
Call  for  the  farce,  the  bear,  or  the  black-joke. 
What  dear  delight  to  Britons  farce  affords ! 
Ever  the  taste  of  mobs,  but  now  of  lords; 
(Taste,  that  eternal  wanderer,  which  flies 
From  heads  to  ears,  and  now  from  ears  to  eyes! ) 
The  play  stands  still;  d— —  action  and  discourse, 
Back  fly  the  scenes,  and  enter  foot  and  horse; 
Pageants  on  pageants,  in  long  order  drawn, 
Peers,  heralds,  bishops,  ermine,  gold  and  lawn; 
The  champion  too  !  and,  to  complete  the  jest, 
Old  Edward's  armour  beams  on  Gibber's  breast.8 
With  laughter  sure  Democritus4  had  died, 
Had  he  beheld  an  audience  gape  so  wide. 
Let  bear  or  elephant  be  e'er  so  white, 
The  people,  sure,  the  people  are  the  sight ! 
Ah,  luckless  poet !  stretch  thy  lungs  and  roar, 
That  bear  or  elephant  shall  heed  thee  more; 
While  all  its  throats  the  gallery  extends, 
And  all  the  thunder  of  the  pit  ascends ! 

1  William  Pinkethman,  a  comedian. 

2  From  plays  to  operas,  and  from  operas  to  pantomimes.— Warburton. 

3  The  coronation  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Queen  Anne  Boleyn,  in  which 
the  play-houses  vied  with  each  other  to  represent  all  the  pomp  of 
a  coronation.    In  this  noble  contention,  the  armour  of  one  of  the  kings 
of  England  was  borrowed  from  the  Tower,  to  dress  the  champion.— 
Pope. 

*  The  Greek  laughing  philosopher. 


308  SATIRES. 

Loud  as  the  wolves  on  Orca's  stormy  steep,1 

Howl  to  the  roarings  of  the  northern  deep. 

Such  is  the  shout,  the  long-applauding  note, 

At  Quin's  high  plume,  or  Oldfield's  petticoat;2 

Or  when  frcm  court  a  birth-day  suit  bestowed, 

Sinks  the  lost  actor  in  the  tawdry  load. 

Booth  enters — hark !  the  universal  peal ! 

"But  has  he  spoken?  "     Not  a  syllable. 

What  shook  the  stage,  and  made  the  people  stare  ? 

Cato's  long  wig,  flow'red  gown,  and  laquerecl  chair. 

Yet  lest  you  think  I  rally  more  than  teach, 
Or  praise  malignly  arts  I  cannot  reach, 
Let  me  for  once  presume  t'  instruct  the  times, 
To  know  the  poet  from  the  man  of  rhymes: 
'Tis  he  who  gives  my  breast  a  thousand  pains, 
Can  make  me  feel  each  passion  that  he  feigns; 
Enrage,  compose,  with  more  than  magic  art, 
With  pity,  and  with  terror,  tear  my  heart; 
And  snatch  me,  o'er  the  earth,  or  through  the  air, 
To  Thebes,  to  Athens,  when  he  will,  and  where. 

But  not  this  p'art  of  the  poetic  state 
Alone,  deserves  the  favor  of  the  great; 
Think  of  those  authors,  sir,  who  would  rely 
More  on  a  reader's  sense,  than  gazer's  eye. 
Or  who  shall  wander  where  the  muses  sing  ? 
Who  climb  their  mountain,  or  who  taste  their  spring  ? 
How  shall  we  fill  a  library  with  wit,3 
When  Merlin's  cave  is  half  unfinished  yet?4 

My  liege !  why  writers  little  claim  your  thought, 
I  guess;  and,  with  their  leave,  will  tell  the  fault: 
We  poets  are  (upon  a  poet's  word) 
Of  all  mankind,  the  creatures  most  absurd: 
The  season,  when  to  come,  and  when  to  go, 
To  sing,  or  cease  to  sing,  we  never  know; 
And  if  we  will  recite  nine  hours  in  ten, 
You  lose  your  patience,  just  like  other  men. 
Then  too  we  hurt  ourselves,  when  to  defend 
A  single  verse,  we  quarrel  with  a  friend; 

1  The  farthest  northern  promontory  of  Scotland,    opposite  to  the 
Orcades. — Pope. 

2  Quin  and  Oldfield  were  a  celebrated  actor  and  actress. 

8  The  Palatine  Library  then  building  by  Augustus.— Pope. 

*  A  building  in  the  royal  gardens  at  Richmond,  where  is  a  small,  but 
choice  collection  of  books.— 


SATIRES.  309 

Bepeat  unasked;  lament,  the  wit's  too  fine 
For  vulgar  eyes,  and  point  out  ev'ry  line. 
But  most,  when  straining  with  too  weak  a  wing, 
We  needs  will  write  epistles  to  the  king; 
And  from  that  moment  we  oblige  the  town, 
Expect  a  place,  or  pension  from  the  crown; 
Or  dubbed  historians,  by  express  command, 
To  enroll  your  triumphs  o'er  the  seas  and  land, 
Be  called  to  court  to  plan  some  work  divine, 
As  once  for  Louis,  Boileau  and  Racine. 

Yet  think,  great  sir !  (so  many  virtues  shown) 
Ah  think,  what  poet  best  may  make  them  known  ? 
Or  choose  at  least  some  minister  of  grace, 
Fit  to  bestow  the  laureate's  weighty  place.1 

Charles,  to  late  times  to  be  transmitted  fair 
Assigned  his  figure  to  Bernini's  care;2 
And  great  Nassau  to  Kneller's 3  hand  decreed 
To  fix  him  graceful  on  the  bounding  steed; 
So  well  in  paint  and  stone  they  judged  of  merit: 
But  kings  in  wit  may  want  discerning  spirit. 
The  hero  William,  and  the  martyr  Charles, 
One  knighted  Blackmore,  and  one  pensioned  Quarles; 
Which  made  old  Ben,  and  surly  Dennis  swear, 
"  No  lord's  anointed,  but  a  Eussian  bear." 

Not  with  such  majesty,  such  bold  relief, 
The  forms  august  of  king,  or  conquering  chief, 
E'er  swelled  on  marble,  as  in  verse  have  shined 
(In  polished  verse)  the  manners  and  the  mind. 
Oh !  could  I  mount  on  the  Mseonian  wing, 
Your  arms,  your  actions,  your  repose  to  sing ! 
What  seas  you  traversed,  and  what  fields  you  fought ! 
Your  country's  peace,  how  oft,  how  dearly  bought ! 
How  barb'rous  rage  subsided  at  your  word, 


1  It  became  a  fashion  to  laugh  at  Gibber.    Even  Dr.  Johnson  wrote 
the  following  severe  epigram  on  the  subject,   equally  severe  on  the 
king,  G-eorge  II, : 

"Augustus  still  survives  in  Maro's  strain, 
And  Spenser's  verse  prolonges  Eliza's  reign; 
Great  George's  acts  let  tuneful  Cibber  sing; 
For  Nature  formed  the  poet  for  the.kiug ." 

2  Bernini,  the  famous  sculptor,  was  employed  to  make  a  bust  of 
Charles  I.    It  is  reported  that  when  the  king's  picture  was  shown  to 
him,  for  the  purpose  of  his  taking  the  likeness,  he  said  that  the  lines 
in  it  foreboded  a  dismal  fate  to  the  sovereign. 

3  William  III.    Sir  Godfrey  Kneller  was  a  great  favourite  of  his. 
This  painter  was  born  1648,  died  1723.    He  was  remarkable  for  vanity  ; 
but  was  a  good  artist, 


310  SATIRES. 

And  nations  wondered  while  they  dropped  the  sword  1 

How,  when  you  nodded,  o'er  the  land  and  deep, 

Peace  stole  her  wing,  and  wrapt  the  world  in  sleep; 

'Till  earth's  extremes  your  mediation  own, 

And  Asia's  tyrants  tremble  at  your  throne — 

But  verse,  alas!  your  majesty  disdains; 

And  I'm  not  used  to  panegyric  strains: 

The  zeal  of  fools  offends  at  any  time, 

But  most  of  all,  the  zeal  of  fools  in  rhyma 

Besides,  a  fate  attends  on  all  I  write, 

That  when  I  aim  at  praise,  they  say  I  bite. 

A  vile  ecomium  doubly  ridicules: 

There's  nothing  blackens  like  the  ink  of  fools. 

If  true,  a  woeful  likeness;  and  if  lies, 

"Praise  undeserved  is  scandal  in  disguise:" 

Well  may  he  blush,  who  gives  it,  or  receives; 

And  when  I  flatter,  let  my  dirty  leaves 

(Like  journals,  odes,  and  such  forgotten  things 

As  Eusden,  Philips,  Settle,  writ  of  kings) 

Clothe  spice,  line  trunks,  or,  fluttering  in  a  row, 

Befringe  the  rails  of  Bedlam  and  Soho. 


THE  SECOND  EPISTLE  OF  THE 

SECOND    BOOK     OF    HORACE. 

Ludentis  speciem  dabit,   et  torquebitur. — HOR.,   fer.   124. 

DEAR  colonel,1  Cobham's  and  you  country's  friend ! 

You  love  a  verse,  take  such  as  I  can  send. 

A  Frenchman  comes,  presents  you  with  his  boy, 

Bows  and  begins — "  This  lad,  sir,  is  of  Blois: 3 

Observe  his  shape  how  clean !  his  locks  how  curled ! 

My  only  son,  I'd  have  him  see  the  world: 

His  French  is  pure;  his  voice  too — you  shall  hear. 

1  Colonel  Cotterell,  of  Rousham  near  Oxford,  the  descendant  of  Sir 
Charles  Cotterell,  who,  at  the  desire  of  Charles  I.,  translated  Davila 
into  English. — Wartun. 

2  A  town  in  Beauce,  where  the  French  tongue  is  spoken  in  great 
purity.—  Warburton, 


SATIRES.  311 

Sir,  he's  your  slave  for  twenty  pounds  a  year. 
Mere  wax  as  yet,  you  fashion  him  with  ease, 
Your  barber,  cook,  upholst'rer,  what  you  please: 
A  perfect  genius  at  an  op'ra-song — 
To  say  too  much,  might  do  my  honour  wrong. 
Take  him  with  all  his  virtues,  on  my  word; 
His  whole  ambition  was  to  serve  a  lord: 
But,  sir,  to  you,  with  what  would  I  not  part? 
Though  faith,  I  fear  'twill  break  his  mother's  heart. 
Once  (and  but  once)  I  caught  him  in  a  lie, 
And  then,  unwhipped,  he  had  the  grace  to  cry: 
The  fault  he  has  I  fairly  shall  reveal, 
(Could  you  o'erlook  but  that)  it  is  to  steal." 

If,  after  this,  you  took  the  graceless  lad, 
Could  you  complain,  my  friend,  he  proved  so  bad  ? 
Faith,  in  such  case,  if  you  should  persecute, 
I  think  Sir  Godfrey 1  should  decide  the  suit; 
Who  sent  the  thief  that  stole  the  cash  away, 
And  punished  him  that  put  it  in  his  way  ? 

Consider  then,  and  judge  me  in  this  light; 
I  told  you  when  I  went,  I  could  not  write; 
You  said  the  same;  and  are  you  discontent 
With  laws,  to  which  you  gave  your  own  assent  ? 
Nay  worse,  to  ask  for  verse  at  such  a  time  ? 
D'ye  think  me  good  for  nothing  but  to  rhyme  ? 

In  Anna's  wars,  a  soldier  poor  and  old 
Had  dearly  earned  a  little  purse  of  gold; 
Tired  with  a  tedious  march,  one  luckless  night, 
He  slept,  poor  dog !  and  lost  it,  to  a  doit. 
This  put  the  man  in  such  a  desp'rate  mind, 
Between  revenge,  and  grief,  and  hunger  joined 
Against  the  foe,  himself,  and  all  mankind, 
He  leaped  the  trenches,  scaled  a  castle-wall, 
Tore  down  a  standard,  took  the  fort  and  all. 
"Prodigious  well;"  his  great  commander  cried, 
Gave  him  much  praise,  and  some  reward  beside. 
Next  pleased  his  excellence  a  town  to  batter: 
(Its  name  I  know  not,  and  'tis  no  great  matter) 
"Go  on,  my  friend  (he  cried),  see  yonder  walls! 
Advance  and  conquer !  go  where  glory  calls  ! 
More  honours,  more  rewards,  attend  the  brave," 

1  An  eminent  justice  of  peace  who  decided  much  in  the  mannei 
of  Saucho  Pane  ha. — Pope. 
Sir  Godfrey  Kneller.— Warburton, 


312  SATIRES. 

Don't  you  remember  what  reply  he  gave  ? 
"D'ye  think  me,  noble  gen'ral,  such  a  sot? 
Let  him  take  castles  who  has  ne'er  a  groat." 

Bred  up  at  home,  full  early  I  began 
To  read  in  Greek  the  wrath  of  Peleus'  son.1 
Besides,  my  father  taught  me  from  a  lad, 
The  better  art  to  know  the  good  from  bad: 
(And  little  sure  imported  to  remove, 
To  hunt  for  truth  in  Maudlin's2  learned  grove.) 
But  knottier  points  we  knew  not  half  so  well. 
Deprived  us  soon  of  our  paternal  cell; 
And  certain  laws,  by  sufferers  thought  unjust,3 
Denied  all  posts  of  profit  or  of  trust: 
Hopes  after  hopes  of  pious  papists  failed, 
While  mighty  William's  thund'ring  arm  prevailed, 
For  right  hereditary  taxed  and  fined, 
He4 stuck  to  poverty  with  peace  of  mind; 
And  me,  the  muses  helped  to  undergo  it; 
Convict  a  papist  he,  and  I  a  poet. 
But  (thanks  to  Homer)5  since  I  live  and  thrive, 
indebted  to  no  prince  or  peer  alive, 
Sure  I  should  want  the  care  of  ten  Monroes,6 
If  I  would  scribble,  rather  than  repose. 
Years  following  years,  steal  something  every  day, 
At  last  they  steal  us  from  ourselves  away; 
In  one  our  frolics,  one  amusements  end, 
In  one  a  mistress  drops,  in  one  a  friend: 
This  subtle  thief  of  life,  this  paltry  Time, 
What  will  it  leave  me,  if  it  snatch  my  rhyme  ? 
If  ev'ry  wheel  of  that  unwearied  mill, 
That  turned  ten  thousand  verses,  now  stands  still? 

But  after  all,  what  would  you  have  me  do  ? 
When  out  of  twenty  I  can  please  not  two; 
When  this  heroics  only  deigns  to  praise, 
Sharp  satire  that,  and  that  Pindaric  lays  ? 
One  likes  the  pheasant's  wing,  and  one  the  leg; 

1  Homer.    Achilles  was  Peleus'  son. 

2  He  had  a  partiality  for  Magdalen  College  where  he  used  to  stay 
with  his  friend  Mr.  Digby.—  Warton. 

3  Pope  alludes  to  the  unjust  laws  against  Papists  ;  especially  to  the 
orders  issued  by  government  for  the  removal  of  Roman  Catholics  to  a 
certain  distance  from  London. 

4  Pope's  father. 

6  Pope  made  a  competence  by  his  translation  of  Homer. 
6  Dr.  Monroe,  physician  to  Bedlam  Hospital. — Warburton. 


SATIRES.  313 

The  vulgar  boil,  the  learned  roast  an  egg; 
Hard  task !  to  hit  the  palate  of  such  guests, 
When  Oldfield  loves  what  Dartineuf l  detests. 

But  grant  I  may  relapse,  for  want  of  gr^ce, 
Again  to  rhyme,  can  London  be  the  place? 
Who  there  his  muse,  or  self,  or  soul  attends, 
In  crowds,    and   courts,   law,   business,  feasts,   and 
My  counsel  sends  to  execute  a  deed;  [friends? 

A  poet  begs  me,  I  will  hear  him  read; 
"  In  palace-yard  at  nine  you'll  find  me  there — 
At  ten  for  certain,  sir,  in  Bloomsbury  Square — 
Before  the  lords  at  twelve  my  cause  comes  on — 
There's  a  rehearsal,  sir,  exact  at  one." — 
"  Oh,  but  a  wit  can  study  in  the  streets, 
And  raise  his  mind  above  the  mob  he  meets." 
Not  quite  so  well  however  as  one  ought; 
A  hackney  coach  may  chance  to  spoil  a  thought; 
And  then  a  nodding  beam,  or  pig  of  lead, 
God  knows,  may  hurt  the  very  ablest  head. 
Have  you  not  seen,  at  Guildhall's  narrow  pass, 
Two  aldermen  dispute  it  with  an  ass? 
And  peers  give  way,  exalted  as  they  are, 
Even  to  their  own  S-r-v — nee  in  a  car? 

Go  lofty  poet !  and  in  such  a  crowd, 
Sing  thy  sonorous  verse — but  not  aloud. 
Alas !  to  grottos  and  to  groves  we  run, 
To  ease  and  silence,  every  muse's  son: 
Blackmore  himself,  for  any  grand  effort, 
Would  drink  and  dose  at  Tooting  or  Earl's  Court,2 
How  shall  I  rhyme  in  this  eternal  roar  ?         [before  ? 
How    match  the    bards  whom  none   e'er  matched 
The  man,  who,  stretched  in  Isis'  calm  retreat, 
To  books  and  study  gives  seven  years  complete, 
See !  strewed  with  learned  dust,  his  night-cap  on, 
He  walks,  an  object  new  beneath  the  sun ! 
The  boys  flock  round  him,  and  the  people  stare: 
So  stiff,  so  mute !  some  statue  you  would  swear, 
Stepped  from  his  pedestal  to  take  the  air ! 
And  here,  while  town,  and  court,  and  city  roars, 
With  mobs,  and  duns,  and  soldiers,  at  their  doors; 
Shall  I,  in  London,  act  this  idle  part  ? 
Composing  songs,  for  fools  to  get  by  heart  ? 

1  Two  celebrated  jrluttons.  ^-Wa^n^t'm. 

9  Xwo  villages  within  a  fo-/     \Jtjs  oi'  Loiuloi}.— JPo^pe, 


314  SATIRES. 

The  Temple  late  two  brother  sergeants  saw, 
Who  deemed  each  other  oracles  of  law; 
With  equal  talents,  these  congenial  souls 
One  lulled  the  exchequer,  and  one  stunned  the  rolls  ;• 
Each  had  a  gravity  would  make  you  split, 
And  shook  his  head  at  Murray,  as  a  wit. 
"  'Twas,  sir,  your  law" — and  "  sir,  your  eloquence — 
"Yours,  Cowper's  manner" — and   "yours,  Talbot's 
Thus  we  dispose  of  all  poetic  merit,  sense.5' 

Yours  Milton's  genius,  and  mine  Homer's  spirit. 
Call  Tibbald  Shakespeare,  and  he'll  swear  the  Nine, 
Dear  Gibber !  never  matched  one  ode  of  thine. 
Lord !  how  we  strut  through  Merlin's  Cave,1  to  see 
No  poets  there,  but  Stephen,2  you,  and  me. 
Walk  with  respect  behind,  while  we  at  ease 
'Weave  laurel  crowns,  and  take  what  names  we  please, 
"My  dear  Tibullus ! "  if  that  will  not  do, 
"Let  me  be  Horace,  and  be  Ovid  you: 
Or,  I'm  content,  allow  me  Dry  den's  strains, 
And  you  shall  rise  up  Otway  for  your  pains." 
Much  do  I  suffer,  much,  to  keep  in  peace 
This  jealous,  waspish,  wrong-head,  rhyming  race; 
And  much  must  flatter,  if  the  whim  should  bite 
To  court  applause  by  printing  what  I  write: 
But  let  the  fit  pass  o'er,  I'm  wise  enough, 
To  stop  my  ears  to  their  confounded  stuff. 

In  vain  bad  rhymers  all  mankind  reject, 
They  treat  themselves  with  most  profound  respect; 
'Tis  to  small  purpose  that  you  hold  your  tongue: 
Each  praised  within,  is  happy  all  day  long; 
But  how  severely  with  themselves  proceed 
The  men,  who  write  such  verse  as  we  can  read  ? 
Their  own  strict  judges,  not  a  word  they  spare 
That  wants  or  force,  or  light,  or  weight,  or  care, 
Howe'er  unwillingly  it  quits  its  place, 
Nay  though  a  Court  (perhaps)  it  may  find  grace: 
Such  they'll  degrade;  and  sometimes,  in  its  stead, 
In  downright  charity  revive  the  dead; 
Mark  where  a  bold  expressive  phrase  appears, 
Bright  through  the  rubbish  of  some  hundred  years; 

1  See  note,  p.  308. 

2  Mr.  Stephen  Dnck,  a  modest  and  worthy  man,  who  had  the  honour 
(which  many,  who  thought  themselves  his  betters  in  poetry,  had  not) 
pf  being  esteemed  by  ]ilr.  Pope. — WarbiM'ton, 


SATIRES.  315 

Command  old  words  that  long  have  slept,  to  wake, 
Words,  that  wise  Bacon,  or  brave  Baleigh  spake; 
Or  bid  the  new  be  English,  ages  hence, 
(For  use  will  father  what's  begot  by  sense) 
Pour  the  full  tide  of  eloquence  along, 
Serenely  pure,  and  yet  divinely  strong, 
Kich  with  the  treasures  of  each  foreign  tongue; 
Prune  the  luxuriant,  the  uncouth  refine, 
But  show  no  mercy  to  an  empty  line: 
Then  polish  all,  with  so  much  life  and  ease, 
You  think  'tis  nature,  and  a  knack  to  please: 
''  But  easa  in  writing  flows  from  art,  not  chance; 
As  those  move  easiest  who  have  learnt  to  dance." 

If  such  the  plague  and  pains  to  write  by  rule, 
Better  (say  I)  be  pleased,  and  play  the  fool; 
Call,  if  you  will,  bad  rhyming  a  disease, 
It  gives  men  happiness,  or  leaves  them  ease. 
There  lived  in  primo  Georgii  (they  record) 
A  worthy  member,  no  small  fool,  a  lord; 
Who,  though  the  House  was  up,  delighted  sate, 
Heard,  noted,  answered,  as  in  full  debate: 
In  all  but  this,  a  man  of  sober  life, 
Fond  of  his  friend  and  civil  to  his  wife; 
Not  quite  a  madman,  though  a  pasty  fell, 
And  much  too  wise  to  walk  into  a  well. 

Him,  the  d d  doctors  and  his  friends  immured, 

They  bled,  they  cupped,  they  purged;  in  short,  the^ 

cured. 

Whereat  the  gentleman  began  to  stare — 
"My  friends  ?"  he  cried,  "pox  take  you  for  your  care 
That  from  a  patriot  of  distinguished  note, 
Have  bled  and  purged  me  to  a  single  vote." 
Well,  on  the  whole,  plain  prose  must  be  my  fate; 
Wisdom  (curse  on  it)  will  come  soon  or  late. 
There  is  a  time  when  poets  will  grow  dull: 
I'll  e'en  leave  verses  to  the  boys  at  school: 
To  rules  of  poetry  no  more  confined, 
I  learn  to  smooth  and  harmonise  my  mind, 
Teach  ev'ry  thought  within  its  bounds  to  roll, 
And  keep  the  equal  measure  of  the  soul. 

•  Soon  as  I  enter  at  my  country  door, 
My  mind  resumes  the  thread  it  dropped  before; 
Thoughts,  which  at  Hyde  Park  corner  I  forgot, 
Meet  and  rejoin  me, in  the  pensive  grot 


316  SATIRES. 

There  all  alone,  and  compliments  apart, 
I  ask  these  sober  questions  of  my  heart. 

If,  when  the  more  you  drink,  the  more  you  cf ave, 
You  tell  the  doctor;  when  the  more  you  have, 
The  more  you  want;  why  not  with  equal  ease 
Confess  as  well  your  folly  as  disease? 
The  heart  resolves  this  matter  in  a  trice, 
"Men  only  feel  the  smart,  but  not  the  vice." 

When  golden  angels1  cease  to  cure  the  evil, 
You  give  all  royal  witchcraft  to  the  devil, 
When  servile  chaplains  cry,2  that  birth  and  place 
Endue  a  peer  with  honor,  truth,  and  grace, 
Look  in  that  breast,  most  dirty  Duke  !  be  fair, 
Say,  can  you  find  out  one  such  lodger  there? 
Yet  still,  not  heeding  what  your  heart  can  teach, 
You  go  to  church  to  hear  these  flatt'rers  preach. 

Indeed,  could  wealth  bestow  or  wit  or  merit, 
A  grain  of  courage,  or  a  spark  of  spirit, 
The  wisest  man  might  blush,  I  must  agree, 
If  D 3  loved  sixpence  more  than  he. 

If  there  be  truth  in  law,  and.  use  can  give 
A  property,  that's  yours  on  which  you  live. 
Delightful  Abs-Court,4  if  its  fields  afford 
Their  fruits  to  you,  confesses  you  its  lord: 
All  Worldly 's  hens,  nay  partridge,  sold  to  town: 
His  ven'son  too,  a  guinea  makes  your  own: 
He  bought  at  thousands,  what  with  better  wit 
You  purchase  as  you  want,  and  bit  by  bit; 
Now,  or  long  since,  what  difference  will  be  found  ? 
You  pay  a  penny,  and  he  paid  a  pound. 

Heathcote 5  himself,  and  such  large-acred  men, 
Lords  of  fat  E'sham,  or  of  Lincoln  fen, 
Buy  ev'ry  stick  of  wood  that  lends  them  heat, 
Buy  ev'ry  pullet  they  afford  to  eat. 
Yet  these  are  wights,  who  fondly  call  their  own 
Half  that  the  devil  o'eiiooks  from  Lincoln  town. 
The  laws  of  God,  as  well  as  of  the  land, 

1  A  golden  coin,  given  as  a  fee  by  those  who  came  to  be  touched  by 
the  royal  hand  for  the  evil. — Bowles. 

2  The  whole  of  this  ;_issage  alludes  to  a  dedication  of  Mr.,  afterwards 
Bishop  Kennet,  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  to  whom  he  was  chaplain, 
—  Warburton. 

3  Devonshire. — Sennet. 

4  A  farm  over  against  Hampton  Court.-- T 

il 


SATIRES.  317 

Abhor,  a  perpetuity  should  stand: 
Estates  have  wings,  and  hang  in  fortune's  power 
Loose  on  the  point  of  ev'ry  wav'ring  hour, 
Ready,  by  force,  or  of  your  own  accord, 
By  sale,  at  least  by  death,  to  change  their  lord. 
Man  ?  and  for  ever  ?  wretch !  wrhat  wouldst  thou  have  ? 
Heir  urges  heir,  like  wave  impelling  wave. 
All  vast  possesions  (just  the  same  the  case 
"Whether  you  call  them  villa,  park,  or  chase) 
Alas,  my  Bathurst !  what  will  they  avail  ? 
Join  Cotswood  hills  to  Saperton's  fair  dale, 
.  Let  rising  granaries  and  temples  here, 
Their  mingled  farms  and  pyramids  appear, 
Link  towns  to  towns  with  avenues  of  oak,1 
Enclose  whole  downs  in  walls,  'tis  all  a  joke ! 
Inexorable  death  shall  level  all, 
And  trees,  and  stones,  and  farms,  and  farmer  fall 

Gold,  silver,  iv'ry,  vases  sculptured  high, 
Paint,  marble,  gems,  and  robes  of  Persian  dye, 
There  are  who  have  not — and  thank  heaven  there  are, 
RTho,  if  they  have  not,  think  not  worth  their  care. 
Talk  what  you  will  of  taste,  my  friend,  you'll  find, 
fwo  of  a  face,  as  soon  as  of  a  mind. 
Why,  of  two  brothers,  rich  and  restless  one 
Ploughs,  burns,  manures,  and  toils  from  sun  to  sun; 
The  other  slights,  for  women,  sports,  and  wines, 
All  Townshend's  turnips,2  and  all  Grosvenor's  mines: 
Why  one  like  Bubb 3  with  pay  and  scorn  content, 
Bows  and  votes  on,  in  court  and  Parliament; 
One,  driven  by  strong  benevolence  of  soul, 
Shall  fly,  like  Oglethorpe,  from  pole  to  pole: 
Is  known  alone  to  that  directing  Pow'r, 
Who  forms  the  genius  in  the  natal  hour; 
That  God  of  nature,  who,  within  us  still, 
Inclines  our  action,  not  constrains  our  will; 
Various  of  temper,  as  of  face  or  frame, 

1  Saperton,  Lord  Bathurst's  place  was  near  the  Cotswald  hills :  his 
favourite  passion  is  alluded  to  in  "Link  towns  to  towns  with  avenues 
of  oak." — JBennet. 

2  Lord  Townshend,  Secretary  of  State  to  George  the  First  and 
Second.    When  he  retired  from  business  he  amused  himself  with 
cultivating  turnips.—  Warburton. 

3  Bubb  Doddington,  Lord  Melcombe. 

*  General  Oglethorpe  was  a  distinguished  soldier  who  served  un- 
der Prince  Eugene  against  the  Turks;  but  the  benevolence  which 
induced  him  to  found  and  settle  the  colony  in  Georgia  gives  greater 
lustre  than  military  exploits  to  his  character. 


318  SATIRES. 

Each  individual:  His  great  end  the  same. 

Yes,  sir,  how  small  soever  be  my  heap, 
A  part  I  will  enjoy,  as  well  as  keep. 
My  heir  may  sigh,  and  think  it  want  of  grace 
A  man  so  poor  would  live  without  a  place; 
But  sure  no  statute  in  his  favor  says, 
H®w  free,  or  frugal,  I  shah1  pass  my  days: 
I,  who  at  some  time  spend,  at  others  spare, 
Divided  between  carelessness  and  care, 
Tis  one  thing  madly  to  disperse  my  store; 
Another,  not  to  heed  the  treasure  more; 
Glad,  like  a  boy,  to  snatch  the  first  good  day., 
And  pleased,  if  sordid  want  be  far  away. 

What  is''t  to  me  (a  passenger  God  wot) 
Whether  my  vessel  be  first-rate  or  not  ? 
The  ship  itself  may  make  a  better  figure, 
But  I  that  sail,  am  neither  less  nor  bigger. 
I  neither  strut  with  ev'ry  fav'ring  breath, 
Nor  strive  with  all  the  tempest  in  my  teeth. 
In  pow'r,  wit,  figure,  virtue,  fortune,  placed 
Behind  the  foremost,  and  before  the  last. 
"But  why  all  this  of  av'rice  ?  I  have  none." 
I  wish  you  joy,  sir,  of  a  tyrant  gone; 
But  does  no  other  lord  it  at  this  hour, 
As  wild  and  mad:  the  avarice  of  pow'r? 
Does  neither  rage  inflame,  nor  fear  appal  ? 
Not  the  black  fear  of  death,  that  saddens  all  ? 
With  terrors  round,  can  reason  hold  her  thione, 
Despise  the  known,  nor  tremble  at  th'  unknown? 
Survey  both  worlds;  intrepid  and  entire, 
In  spite  of  witches,  devils,  dreams,  and  fire  ? 
Pleased  to  look  forward,  pleased  to  look  behind, 
And  count  each  birthday  with  a  grateful  mind  ? 
Has  life  no  sourness,  drawn  so  near  its  end  ? 
Canst  thou  endure  a  foe,  forgive  a  friend? 
Has  age  but  melted  the  rough  parts  awaw, 
As  winter  fruits  grow  mild  ere  they  decay  ? 
Or  will  you  think,  my  friend,  your  business  done, 
When,  of  a  hundred  thorns,  you  pull  out  one  ? 

Learn  to  live  well,  or  fairly  make  your  will; 
You've  played,  and  loved,  and  eat,  and  drank  your  fill', 
Walk  sober  off;  before  a  sprightlier  age 
Comes  tittering  on,  and  shoves  you  from  the  stage: 
Leave  such  to  trifle  with  more  grace  and  ease 
'Whom  folly  pleases,  and  whose  follies  please. 


SATIRES.  319 


EPILOGUE   TO  THE  SATIRES. 

1738. 

The  following  words  of  Quintilian  might  not  be  an  improper  motto 
lor  these  dialogues :  «« Ingenii  plurimum  est  in  eo,  et  acerbitas  mira, 
•t  urbanitas,  et  vis  summa;  sed  plus  stomacho  quam  consilio  dedit. 
Piaeterea  ut  amari  sales,  ita  frequenter  amaritudo  ipsa  ridicula 
est." 

IN  TWO  DIALOGUES. 
WRITTEN    IN    MDCCXXXVIII. 

DIALOGUE  I. 

FT.  NOT  twice  a  twelvemonth l  you  appear  in  print, 
And  when  it  comes,  the  court  see  nothing  in't. 
You  grow  correct,  that  once  with  rapture  writ, 
And  are,  besides,  too  moral  for  a  wit. 
Decay  of  parts,  alas !  we  all  must  feel — 
Why  now,  this  moment,  don't  I  see  you  steal  ? 
'Tis  all  from  Horace  ;  Horace  long  before  ye 
Said,  "Tories  called  him  Whig,  and  Whigs  a  Tory;" 
And  taught  his  Romans,  in  much  better  metre, 
"  To  laugh  at  fools  who  put  their  trust  in  Peter." 

But  Horace,  sir,  was  delicate,  was  nice  ; 
Bubo  observes,'2  he  lashed  no  sort  of  vice  : 
Horace  would  say,  Sir  Billy  served  the  crown, 
Blunt  could  do  business,  Huggins3  knew  the  town  ; 
In  Sappho  touch  the  failings  of  the  sex, 
In  rev'rend  bishops  note  some  small  neglects, 
And  own,  the  Spaniard  did  a  waggish  thing, 
Who  cropped  our  ears,4  and  sent  them  to  the  king. 
His  sly,  polite,  insinuating  style 
Could  please  at  court,  and  make  Augustus  smile  : 
An  artful  manager,  that  crept  between 

1  These  two  lines  are  from  Horace ;  and  the  only  lines  that  are  s« 
in  the  whole  poem  :  being  meant  to  give  a  handle  to  that  which  fol- 
lows in  the  character  of  an  impertinent  censurer — 

"  'Tis  all  from  Horace,"  he.— Pope. 

2  Some  guilty  person  very  fond  of  making  such  an  observation.— 
Pope. 

3  Formerly  jailor  of  the  Fleet  Prison,  enriched  himself  by  many 
exactions,  for  which  he  was  tried  and  expelled.— Pope. 

*  Said  to  be  executed  by  the  captain  of  a  Spanish  ship  on  one  Jen- 
kins, a  captain  of  an  English  one.  He  cut  off  his  ears,  and  bid  him 
Varrv  them  to  the  king  his  master.— Pope, 


320  SATIRES. 

His  friend  and  shame,  and  was  a  kind  of  screen.1 
But  'faith  your  very  friends  will  soon  be  sore  ; 
Patriots  there  are,2  who  wish  you'd  jest  no  more — 
And  where's  the  glory  ?  'twill  be  only  thought 
The  great  man3  never  offered  you  a  groat. 
Go  see  Sir  Kobert — 4 

P.  See  Sir  Eobert!— hum 
And  never  laugh — for  all  my  life  to  come  ? 
Seen  him  I  have,  but  in  his  happier  hour 
Of  Social  pleasure,5  ill  exchanged  for  power  ; 
Seen  him,  encumbered  with  the  venal  tribe, 
Smile  without  art,  and  win  without  a  bribe. 
Would  he  oblige  me  ?  let  me  only  find, 
He  does  not  think  me  what  he  thinks  mankind.6 
Come,  come,  at  all  I  laugh  he  laughs,  no  doubt ; 
The  only  difference  is  I  dare  laugh  out. 

F.  Why  yes  :  with  Scripture  still  you  may  be  free ; 
A  horse-laugh,  if  you  please,  at  honesty  ; 
A  joke  on  Jekyl,7  or  some  odd  old  Whig 
Who  never  changed  his  principle,  or  wig  : 
A  patriot  is  a*  fool  in  ev'ry  age, 
Whom  all  Lord  Chamberlains  allow  the  stage : 
These  nothing  hurts  ;  they  keep  their  fashion  still, 
And  wear  their  strange  old  virtue,  as  they  will. 
If  any  ask  you,  "Who's  the  man,  so  near 
His  prince,  that  writes  in  verse,  and  has  his  ear?" 
Why,  answer,  Lyttleton,8  and  I'll  engage 
The  worthy  youth  .shall  ne'er  be  in  a  rage ; 

1  "Omne  vafer  vitium  ridenti  Flaccus  araico 
Tangit,  et  admissus  circum  praecordia  ludit." — Pers. 

A  metaphor  peculiarly  appropriated  to  a  certain  person  in  power. 
— Pope. 

2  This  appellation  was  generally  given  to  those  in  opposition  to  the 
court.    Though  some  of  them  (which  our  author  hints  at)  had  views 
too  mean  and  interested  to  deserve  that  name. — Pope. 

3  A  phrase  by  common  use  appropriated  to  the  first  minister. — 
Pope. 

•*  Sir  Robert  Walpole. 

5  Sir  Robert  Walpole  was  in  private  life  very  pleasant  and  agree- 
able.   See  the  "  Memoirs  "  of  the  Pope  for  his  cause  of  gratitude  to  Sir 
R.  Walpole. 

6  That  "  every  man  had  his  price." 

7  Sir  Joseph  Jekyl,  Master  of  the  Rolls,  a  true  Whig  in  his  princi- 
ples, and  a  man  of  the  utmost  probity.    He  sometimes  voted  against 
the  court,  which  drew  upon  him  the  laugh  here  described  of  one  who 
bestowed  it  equally  upon  religion  and  honesty.    He  died  a  few 
months  after  the  publication  of  this  poem. — Pope. 

8  George  Lyttleton,  secretary  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  distinguished 
both  for  his  writings  and  speeches  in  the  spirit  of  liberty.— Pope, 


SATIRES.  321 

But  were  his  verses  vile,  his  whisper  base, 
You'd  quickly  find  him  in  Lord  Fanny's  case. 
Sejanus,  Wolsey,1  hurt  not  honest  Fleury,2 
But  well  may  put  some  statesmen  in  a  fury. 

Laugh  then  at  any,  but  at  fools  or  foes  ; 
These  you  but  anger,  and  you  mend  not  those. 
Laugh  at  your  friends,  and,  if  your  friends  are  sore, 
So  much  the  better,  you  may  laugh  the  more. 
To  vice  and  folly  to  confine  the  jest, 
Sets  half  the  world,  God  knows,  against  the  rest ; 
Did  not  the  sneer  of  more  impartial  men 
At  sense  and  virtue,  balance  all  agen 
Judicious  wits  spread  wide  the  ridicule, 
And  charitably  comfort  knave  and  fool. 

P.  Dear  sir,  forgive  the  prejudice  of  youth : 
Adieu  distinction,  satire,  warmth,  and  truth! 
Come,  harmless  characters,  that  no  one  hit ; 
Come,  Henley's  oratory,  Osborne's3  wit ! 
The  honey  dropping  from  Favonio's  tongue, 
The  flowers  of  Bubo,  and  the  flow  of  Yoiige !  * 
The  gracious  dew 5  of  pulpit  eloquence, 
And  all  the  well-whipped  cream  of  courtly  sense, 

That  first  was  H vy's,  F 's 6  next  and  then 

The  S te's,  and  then  H vy's  once  again. 

O  come,  that  easy  Ciceronian  style, 

So  Latin,  yet  so  English  all  the  while, 

As,  though  the  pride  of  Middleton 7  and  Bland,8 

All  boys  may  read,  and  girls  may  understand ! 9 

Then  might  I  sing,  without  the  least  offence, 

1  The  one  th<e  wicked  minister  of  Tiberius ;  the  other,  of  Henry 
VIII.    The  writers  against  the  court  usually  bestowed  these  and 
other  odious  names  on  the  minister,  without  distinction,  and  in  the 
most  injurious  manner.    See  Dial.  ii.  ver.  1ST.— Pope. 

2  Cardinal;  and  minister  to  Louis  XV.     It  was  a  patriot  fashion, 
at  that  time,  to  cry  up  his  wisdom       d  honesty. — Pope. 

3  See  them  in  their  places  in  the  "  Dunciad." — Pope. 

*  Bubo— Bubb  Doddington— Sir  William  Yonge.— Bowles. 

6  Alludes  to  some  court  sermons,  and  florid  panegyrical  speeches ; 
particularly  one  very  full  of  puerilities  and  flatteries;  which  after- 
wards got  into  ah  address  in  the  same  pretty  style;  and  was  lastly 
served  up  in  an  epitaph,  between  Latin  and  English,  published 
by  its  author.— Pope. 

6  Foxe. 

7  Dr.  Conyers  Middleton  wrote  the  "  Life  of  Cicero,"  for  which  he 
obtained  a  great  sum  of  money.    He  was  a  friend  of  Lord  Hervey, 
Pope's  foe. 

8  Dr.   Bland   was   Master  of   Eton,  and  a  friend  of   Sir  Robert 
Walpole's. 

9  Full  of  school  phrases  and  Anglicisms.—  Warburton, 


322  SATIRES. 

And  all  I  sung  should  be  the  nation's  sense  ;  * 

Or  teach  the  melancholy  muse  to  mourn, 

Hang  the  sad  verse  on  Carolina's '2  urn, 

And  hail  her  passage  to  the  realms  of  rest, 

All  parts  performed,  and  oil  her  children  blest! 3 

So — satire  is  no  more — I  feel  it  die — 

No  gazetteer  more  innocent  than  I — 

And  let,  a'  God's  name,  every  fool  and  knave 

Be  graced  through  life,  and  flattered  in  his  grave. 

F.  Why  so  ?  if  satire  knows  its  time  and  place, 
•You  still  may  lash  the  greatest — in  disgrace  : 
For  merit  will  by  turns  forsake  them  all ; 
Would  you  know  when  ?  exactly  when  they  fall. 
But  let  all  satire  in  all  changes  spare 

Immortal  Selkirk,4  and  grave  De re, 

Silent  and  soft,  as  saints  remove  to  heaven, 

All  ties  dissolved  and  every  sin  forgiven, 

These  may  some  gentle  ministerial  wing 

Keceive,  and  place  for  ever  near  a  king ! 

There,  where  no  passion,  pride,  or  shame  transport, 

Lulled  with  the  sweet  nepenthe  of  a  court ; 

There,  where  no  father's,  brother's,  friend's  disgrace 

Once  break  their  rest,  or  stir  them  from  their  place  : 

But  passed  the  sense  of  human  miseries, 

All  tears  are  wiped  for  ever  from  all  eyes  ; 

No  cheek  is  known  to  blush,  no  heart  to  throb, 

Save  when  they  lose  a  question,  or  a  job.         [glory, 

P.  Good  heav'n  forbid,  that  I  should  blast  their 
Who  know  how  like  Whig  ministers  to  Tory,     [vext, 
And,  when  three  sovereigns  died,  could  scarce  be 
Considering  what  a  gracious  prince  was  next. 
Have  I,  in  silent  wonder,  seen  such  things 
As  pride  in  slaves,  and  avarice  in  kings  ; 
And  at  a  peer,  or  peeress,  shall  I  fret, 
Who  starves  a  sister,  or  forswears  a  debt  ? 

><l? 

1  A  cant  term  of  politics  at  the  time.—  Warburton. 

2  Queen  Consort  to  King  George  II.    She  died  in  1737.    Ker  death 
gave  occasion,  as  is  observed  above,  to  many  indiscreet  and  mean 
performances  unworthy  of  her  memory,  whose  last  moments  mani- 
fested the  utmost  courage  and  resolution. — Pope. 

3  This  was  bitter  sarcasm.    Caroline  hated  Frederick  Prince  of 
Wales,  and  refused  to  see  him  on  her  deathbed. 

4  A  title  given  that  lord  by  King  James  II.    He  was  of  the  bed- 
chamber to  King  William ;  he  was  so  to  King  George  I. ;  he  was  so  to 
King  George  II.    This  lord  was  very  skillful  in  all  the  forms  of  the 
house,  in  which  he  discharged  himself  with  great  gravity.    J?ope 
alludes  to  Charles  Hamilton,  created  Earl  Selkirk,  1067. 


SATIRES.  323 

"Virtue,  I  grant  you,  is  an  empty  boast ; 

But  shall  the  dignity  of  vice  be  lost  ? 

Ye  gods !  shall  Gibber's  son,  without  rebuke, 

Swear  like  a  lord,  or  Eich l  out-w a  duke  ? 

A  favourite's  porter  with  his  master  vie, 

Be  bribed  as  often,  and  as  often  lie  ? 

Shall  Ward  draw  contracts  with  a  statseman's  skill  ? 

Or  Japhet  pocket,  like  his  grace,  a  will  ? 

Is  it  for  Bond,  or  Peter,  (paltry  things) 

To  pay  their  debts,  or  keep  their  faith,  like  kings  ? 

If  Blount2  dispatched  himself,  he  played  the  man, 

And  so  mayest  thou,  illustrious  Passeran ! a 

But  shall  a  printer,  weary  of  his  life, 

Learn,  from  their  books,  to  hang  himself  and  wife  ?  * 

This,  this,  my  friend,  I  cannot,  must  not  bear; 

Vice  thus  abused,  demands  a  nation's  care; 

This  calls  the  Church  to  deprecate  our  sin, 

And  hurls  the  thunder  of  the  laws  on  gin.5 

Let  modest  Foster,  if  he  will,  excel 
Ten  metropolitans  in  preaching  well;6 
A  simple  Quaker,  or  a  Quaker's  wife,7 
Outdo  Landaff8  in  doctrine, — yea  in  life: 
Let  humble  Allen,9  with  an  awkward  shame, 
Do  good  by  stealth,  and  blush  to  find  it  fame. 
Virtue  may  choose  the  high  or  low  degree, 
'Tis  just  aHke  to  virtue,  and  to  me; 
Dwell  in  a  monk,  or  light  upon  a  king, 
She's  still  the  same,  beloved,  contented  thing. 

1  Two  players;  look  for  them  in  the  "  Dunciad," — Pope. 

a  Author  of  an  impious  and  foolish  book  called  "  The  Oraclea 
of  Reason,"  who  being  in  love  with  a  near  kinswoman  of  his,  and  re- 
jected, gave  himself  a  stab  in  the  arm,  as  pretending  to  kill  himself, 
of  the  consequence  of  which  he  really  died.— Pope. 

He  was  the  younger  son  of  Sir  Henry  Blount,  and  the  author  of  an 
infidel  treatise,  &c. —  Warton. 

3  Author  of  another  book  of  the  same  stamp,  called  "  A  Philosophi- 
cal Discourse  on  Death,"  being  a  defence  of  suicide.    He  was  a 
nobleman  of  Piedmont,  banished  from  his  country  for  his  impieties. 
This  unhappy  man  at  last  died  a  penitent. 

4  A  fact  that  happened  in  London  a  few  years  past.    The  unhappy 
man  left  behind  him  a  paper  justifying  his  action  by  the  reasonings 
«J  some  of  these  authors.— Pope. 

5  The  use  of  gin  was  restrained  by  act  of  Parliament  1736. 

6  An  eloquent  and  persuasive  preacher,  who  wrote  an  excellent 
defence  of  Christianity  against  Tindal.—  Warton. 

7  Mrs.  Drummond,  celebrated  in  her  time. — Warton. 

8  The  bishop  of  Llandaff  at  this  time  was  Dr.  Matthias  Mawson, 
Master  also  of  Benet  College,  Cambridge. 

"  Ralph  Allen,  of  Prior  Park,  Pope's  great  frienci  and  correspondent, 


324  SATIRES. 

Vice  is  undone,  if  she  forgets  her  birth, 

And  stoops  from  angels  to  the  dregs  of  earth: 

But  'tis  the  fall  degrades  her  to  a  w ; 

Let  greatness  own  her,  and  she's  mean  no  more; 

Her  birth,  her  beauty,  crowds  and  courts  confess  , 

Chaste  matrons  praise  her,  and  grave  bishops  bless; 

In  golden  chains  the  willing  world  she  draws, 

And  hers  the  gospel  is,  and  hers  the  laws, 

Mounts  the  tribunal,  lifts  her  scarlet  head, 

And  sees  pale  virtue  carted  in  her  stead. 

Lo !  at  the  wheels  of  her  triumphal  car, 

Old  England's  genius,  rough  with  many  a  scar, 

Dragged  in  the  dust !  his  arms  hang  idly  round, 

His  flag  inverted  trails  along  the  ground ! 

Our  youth,  all  liveried  o'er  with  foreign  gold, 

Before  her  dance :  behind  her  crawl  the  old ! 

See  thronging  millions  to  the  Pagod  run, 

And  offer  country,  parent,  wife,  or  son ! 

Hear  her  black  trumpet  through  the  land  proclaim- 

That  not  to  be  corrupted  is  the  shame. 

In  soldier,  churchman,  patriot,  man  in  pow'r, 

"Tis  av'rice  all,  ambition  is  no  more ! 

See,  ah1  our  nobles  begging  to  be  slaves ! 

See,  all  our  fools  aspiring  to  be  knaves ! 

The  wit  of  cheats,  the  courage  of  a  w , 

Are  what  ten  thousand  envy  and  adore; 

AH,  all  look  up,  with  reverential  awe, 

At  crimes  that  'scape,  or  triumph  o'er  the  law; 

While  truth,  worth,  wisdom,  daily  they  decry — 

"  Nothing  is  sacred  now  but  villany." 

Yet  may  this  verse  (if  such  a  verse  remain) 
Show,  there  was  one  who  held  it  in  disdain. 


DIALOGUE  EL 

1738. 

F.  'Tis  all  a  libel— Paxton l  (sir)  will  say. 

P.  Not  yet,  my  friend!  to-morrow  'faith  it  may; 

And  for  that  very  cause  I  print  to-day. 

i  Late  Solicitor  to  tlxe  Treasury.— 


SATIRES.  325 

How  should  I  fret  to  mangle  ev'ry  line, 
In  reverence  to  the  sins  of  thirty-nine  I1 
Vice  with  such  giant  strides  comes  on  amain, 
Invention  strives  to  be  before  in  vain; 
Feign  what  I  will,  and  jfaint  it  e'er  so  strong, 
Some  rising  genius  sins  up  to  my  song. 

F.  Yet  none  but  you  by  name  the  guilty  lash; 
Even  Guthry 2  saves  half  Newgate  by  a  dash. 
Spare  then  the  person  and  expose  the  vice. 

P.  How,  sir?  not  damn  the  sharper,  but  the  dice? 
Come  on  then,  Satire !  general,  unconiined, 
Spread  thy  broad  wing,  and  souse  on  all  the  kind. 
Ye  statesmen,  priests,  of  one  religion  all! 
Ye  tradesmen  vile,  in  army,  court,  or  hall,       [Who  ? 
Ye  reverend  Atheists —    F.  Scandal!  name  them! 

P.  "Why  that's  the  thing  you  bid  me  not  to  do, 
Who  starved  a  sister,  who  forswore  a  debt, 
I  never  named;  the  town's  inquiring  yet.      [You  do ! 
The  pois'ning  dame —  F  You  mean —  P.  I  don't.  F. 

P.  See,  now  I  keep  the  secret,  and  not  you ! 
The  bribing  statesman —  F.  Hold,  too  high  you  go. 

P.  The  bribed  elector —  F.  There  you  stoop  too 
low. 

P.  I  fain  would  please  you,  if  I  knew  with  what; 
Tell  me,  which  knave  is  lawful  game,  which  not? 
Must  great  offenders,  once  escaped  the  crown, 
Like  royal  harts,  be  never  more  run  down  ? 3 
Admit  your  law  to  spare  the  knight  requires, 
As  beasts  of  nature  may  we  hunt  the  squires? 
Suppose  I  censure — you  know  what  I  mean — 
To  save  a  bishop,  may  I  name  a  dean? 

F.  A  dean,  sir?  no:  his  fortune  is  not  made; 
You  hurt  a  man  that's  rising-in  the  trade. 

P.  If  not  a  tradesman  who  set  up  to-day, 
Much  less  the  'prentice  who  to-morrow  may. 
Down,  down,  proud  Satire !  though  a  realm  be  spoiled, 
Arraign  no  mightier  thief  than  wretched  Wild;4 

1  This  poem  being  written  in  1738. 

2  The  Ordinary  of  Newgate,  who  publishes  the  memoirs  of  the 
malefactors,  and  is  often  prevailed  upon  to  be  so  tender  of  their 
reputation,  as  to  set  down  no  more  than  the  initials  of  their  name.— 
Pope. 

3  Alluding  to  the  old  game  laws. 

4  Jonathan  Wild,  a  famous  thief,  and  thief  impeacher,  who  was  at 
last  caught  in  his  own  train  and 'haaged.— Pope. 


326  SATIRES. 

Or,  if  a  court  or  country's  made  a  job, 
Go  drench  a  pickpocket,  and  join  the  mob. 

But,  sir,  I  beg  you  (for  the  love  of  vice !) 
The  matter's  weighty,  pray  consider  twice; 
Have  you  less  pity  for  the  needy  cheat, 
The  poor  and  friendless  villain,  than  the  great? 
.Alas !  the  small  discredit  of  a  bribe 
Scarce  hurts  the  lawyer,  but  undoes  the  scribe. 
Then  better  sure  it  charity  becomes 
To  tax  directors,  who  (thank  God)  have  plums; 
Still  better,  ministers;  or,  if  the  thing 
May  pinch  ev'en  there — why  lay  it  on  a  king. 

F.  Stop !  stop ! 

P.  Must  Satire,  then,  nor  rise  nor  fall  ? 
Speak  out,  and  bid  me  blame  no  rogues  at  all. 

F.  Yes,  strike  that  Wild,  I'll  justify  the  blow. 

jP.  Strike  ?  why  the  man  was  hanged  ten  years  ago : 
Who  now  that  obsolete  example  fears  ? 
Even  Peter  trembles  only  for  his  ears.1 

F.  What?  always  Peter?  Peter  thinks  you  mad; 
You  make  men  desp'rate  if  they  once  are  bad: 
Else  might  he  take  to  virtue  some  years  hence — 

P.  As  Selkirk,  if  he  lives,  will  love  the  Prince. 

F.  Strange  spleen  to  Selkirk ! 

P.  Do  I  wrong  the  man  ? 
God  knows,  I  praise  a  courtier  where  I  can. 
When  I  confess,  there  is  who  feels  for  fame, 
And  melts  to  goodness,  need  I  Scarborough 2  name  ? 
Pleased  let  me  own,  in  Esher's  peaceful  grove 3 
(Where  Kent*  and  nature  vie  for  Pelham's  love) 

1  Peter  [Walter]   had,   the  year  before   this   narrowly   escaped 
the  pillory  for  forgery:   and  got  off  with  a  severe  rebuke  from 
the  bench.— Pope. 

2  Earl  of,  and  Knight  of  the  Garter,  whose  personal  attachments  to 
the  King  appeared  from  his  steady  adherence  to  the  royal  interest, 
after  his  resignation  of  his  great  employment  of  Master  of  the  Horse, 
and  whose  known  honour  and  virtue  made  him  esteemed  by  all 
parties.-j-Pope. 

3  The  house  and  gardens  of  Esher  in  Surrey,  belonging  to  the 
Honourable  Mr.  Pelham,  brother  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle.    The 
author  could  not  have  given  a  more  amiable  idea  of  his  character 
than  in  comparing  him  to  Mr.  Craggs.— Pope. 

*  Kent  has  been  called  the  creator  of  English  landscape  gardening. 
He  was  originally  a  coach  painter,  but  through  Lord  Burlington 
obtained  employment  as  an  architect  and  painter.  It  is  however  to 
his  landscape  gardening  Pope  alludes,  and  compliments  him  by 
eaypg  "  Kent  and  Nature,"  as  if  they  were  synonymous  terms- 


SATIRES.  327 

The  scene,  the  master,  opening  to  my  view, 
I  sit  and  dream  I  see  my  Craggs1  anew! 

Even  in  a  bishop  I  can  spy  desert; 
Seeker 2  is  decent,  Kundel  has  a  heart, 
Manners  with  candour  are  to  Benson  given, 
To  Berkeley,3  every  virtue  under  heaven. 

But  does  the  court  a  worthy  man  remove  ? 
That  instant,  I  declare,  he  has  my  love: 
I  shun  his  zenith,  court  his  mild  decline; 
Thus  Somers4  once,  and  Halifax,5  were  mine. 
Oft,  in  the  clear,  still  mirror  of  retreat, 
I  studied  Shrewsbury,6  the  wise  and  great 
Carleton's7  calm  sense,  and -Stanhope's8  noble  flame, 
Compared,  and  knew  their  gen'rous  end  the  same; 
How  pleasing  Atterbury's9  softer  hour ! 
How  shined  the  soul,  unconquered  in  the  Tower ! 
How  can  I  Pulteney,10  Chesterfield  u  forget, 

i  See  notes  at  pp.  262,  294. 

a  Seeker  was  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  Rundel  bishop  of  Derry.— 
See  Swift's  poem  on  him.  Benson  was  bishop  of  Gloucester. 

3  Dr.  Berkeley  was  good,  gentle,  and  every  way  excellent;  but  had 
a  craze  that  matter  had  no  existence  except  in  idea.    It  is  of  him  the 
story  is  told  that  Swift  seeing  him  standing  at  his  hall  door  in 
a  heavy  shower,  did  not  open  it,  but  requested  the  bishop  to  come 
through  it,  as  it  did  not  really  exist! 

4  John  Lord  Somers  died  in  1716.    He  had  been  Lord  Keeper  in  the 
reign  of  William  III.  who  took  from  him  the  seals  in  1700.    The 
author  had  the  honour  of  knowing  him  in  1706.    A  faithful,  able,  and 
Incorrupt  minister;  who,  to  the  qualities  of  a  consummate  states- 
man, added  those  of  a  man  of  learning  and  politeness. — Pope.     "  One 
of  those  divine  men,"  says  Lord  Orford,   "who,  like  a  chapel  in 
a  palace,  remains  unprofaned  while  all  the  rest  is  tyranny,  corrup- 
tion and  folly." 

5  A  peer,  no  less  distinguished  by  his  love  of  letters  than  his  abili- 
ties in  parliament.    He  was  disgraced  in  1710,  on  the  change  of 
Queen  Anne's  ministry. — Pope. 

•  Charles  Talbot,  Duke  of  Shrewsbury,  had  been  Secretary  of  State, 
Ambassador  in  France,  Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  Lord  Chamber- 
lain, and  Lord  Treasurer.  He  several  times  quitted  his  employ- 
ments, and  was  often  recalled.  He  died  in  1718. — Pope. 

i  Henry  Boyle,  Lord  Carleton  (nephew of  the  famous  Robert  Boyle), 
who  was  Secretary  of  State  under  William  III.  and  President  of  the 
Council  under  Queen  Anne. — Pope. 

8  James  Earl  Stanhope.    A  nobleman  of  equal  courage,  spirit,  and 
learning.    General  in  Spain,  and  Secretary  of  State. — Pope. 

9  Francis  Atterbury,  Bishop  of  Rochester.    He  had  few  equals  as  a 
preacher,  and  was  a  man  of  great  virtue  and  brilliant  talents.    In 
1722  he  was  committed  to  the  Tower  on  a  charge  of  being  engaged  in 
a  plot  to  restore  the  family  of  James  II.  to  the  throne.    He  was 
Pope's  great  friend,  and  in  private  life  was   charming,  being  a 
tender  father  and  warm  friend.     He  was  banished  for  life,  and  died 
at  Paris,  1732,  but  his  remains  have  a  place  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

10  William  Pulteney  afterwards  Earl  of  Bath. 

11  Philip  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  a  great  statesman  and  wit.    His 
"  Letters  to  his  Son,"  are  well  known. 


328  SATIRES. 

While  Roman  spirit  charms,  and  Attic  wit: 
Argyll,  the  state's  whole  thunder  born  to  wield, 
And  shake  alike  the  senate  and  the  field: 
Or  Wyndham,1  just  to  freedom  and  the  throne, 
The  master  of  our  passions,  and  his  own  ? 
Names,  which  I  long  have  loved,  nor  loved  in  vain, 
Ranked  with  their  friends,  not  numbered  with  their 
And  if  yet  higher  the  proud  list  should  end/  [train; 
Still  let  me  say:  "No  follower,  but  a  friend." 

Yet  think  not,  friendship  only  prompts  my  lays; 
I  follow  virtue;  where  she  shines,  I  praise: 
Point  she  to  priest  or  elder,  Whig  or  Tory, 
Or  round  a  Quaker's  beaver  cast  a  glory. 
I  never  (to  my  sorrow  I  declare) 
Dined  with  the  Man  of  Ross,  or  my  Lord  Mayor.3 
Some,  in  their  choice  of  friends  (nay,  look  not  grave) 
Have  still  a  secret  bias  to  a  knave: 
To  find  an  honest  man  I  beat  about, 
And  love  him,  court  him,  praise  him,  in  or  out. 

F.  Then  why  so  few  commended  ? 

P.  Not  so  fierce; 

Find  you  the  virtue,  and  I'll  find  the  verse. 
But  random  praise — the  task  can  ne'er  be  done; 
Each  mother  asks  it  for  her  booby  son, 
Each  widow  asks  it  for  the  "  best  of  men," 
For  him  she  weeps,  and  him  she  weds  agen. 
Praise  cannot  stoop,  like  satire,  to  the  ground; 
The  number  may  be  hanged,  but  not  be  crowned. 
Enough  for  half  the  greatest  of  these  days, 
To  'scape  my  censure,  not  expect  my  praise. 
Are  they  not  rich^  what  more  can  they  pretend  ? 
Dare  they  to  hope  a  poet  for  their  friend  ? 
What  Richelieu  wanted,  Louis  scarce  could  gain, 
And  what  young  Ammon  wished,  but  wished  in  vain. 
No  pow'r  the  muse's  friendship  can  command; 
No  pow'r,  when  virtue  claims  it,  can  withstand: 

1  Sir    William    Wyndham,  Chancellor   of   the    Exchequer   under 
Queen  Anne,  made  early  a  considerable  figure;  but  since  a  much 
greater  both  by  his  ability  and  eloquence,  joined  with  the  utmost 
j  udgment  and  temper.— Pope. 

2  He  was  at  this  time  honoured  with  the  esteem  and  favour  of  his 
Royal  Highness  Frederick  Prince  of  Wales. —  Warburton. 

3  Sir  John  Barnard.  Lord  Mayor  in  1738,  eminent  for  his  virtues 
and   public  spirit.    In  1717,  the  City  of  London  erected  a  statue 
of  him,  in  memory  of  the  benefits  conferred  by  him  on  London.    Cf. 
ante,  Bk,  i,  Ep,  ii,  ver,  85, 


ATIHES. 

To  Cato,  Virgil  payed  one  honest  line; 

0  let  my  country's  friends  illumine  mine !       [no  sin ; 
— What  are  you  thinking  ?     F.  'Faith  the  thought's 

1  think  your  friends  are  out,  and  would  be  in. 

P.  If  merely  to  come  in,  sir,  they  go  out, 
The  way  they  take  is  strangely  round  about. 

F.  They  too  may  be  corrupted,  you'll  allow? 

P.  I  only  call  those  knaves  who  are  so  now. 
Is  that  too  little  ?     Come  then,  I'll  comply — 
Spirit  of  Arnall!1  aid  me  while  I  lie. 
Cobham's  a  coward,  Polwarth2  is  a  slave, 
And  Lyttleton  a  dark,  designing  knave. 
St.  John  has  ever  been  a  wealthy  fool — 
But  let  me  add,  Sir  Robert's  mighty  dull, 
Has  never  made  a  friend  in  private  life, 
And  was,  besides,  a  tyrant  to  his  wife.3 

But  pray,  when  others  praise  him,  do  I  blame  ? 
Call  Yerres,  Wolsey,  any  odious  name  ? 
Why  rail  they  then,  if  but  a  wreath  of  mine, 
Oh,  all-accomplished  St.  John !  deck  thy  shrine  ? 

What  ?  shall  each  spur-galled  hackney  of  the  day, 
When  Paxton  gives  him  double  pots  and  pay, 
Or  each  new-pensioned  sycophant,  pretend 
To  break  my  windows,  if  I  treat  a  friend?* 
Then  wisely  plead,  to  me  they  meant  no  hurt, 
But  'twas  my  guest  at  whom  they  threw  the  dirt  ? 
Sure,  if  I  spare  the  minister,  no  rules 
Of  honour  bind  me,  not  to  maul  his  tools; 
Sure,  if  they  cannot  cut,  it  may  be  said 
His  saws  are  toothless,  and  his  hatchet's  lead. 

It  angered  Turenne,  once  upon  a"  day, 
To  see  a  footman  kicked  that  took  his  pay: 
But  when  he  heard  the  affront  the  fellow  gave, 
Knew  one  a  man  of  honour,  one  a  knave; 
The  prudent  gen'ral  turned  it  to  a  jest, 
And  begged  he'd  take  the  pains  to  kick  the  rest: 
Which  not  at  present  having  time  to  do —         [you-? 

F.  Hold,  sir !  for  God's  sake  where's  th'  affront  to 

1  Look  for  him  in  his  place.— "Dune."  Bk.  n.  ver.  315.,— Pope. 

2  The  Hon.  Hugh  Hume,  son  of  Alexander  Earl  of  Marchmont, 
grandson  of  Patrick  Earl  of  Marchmont,  and  distinguished,  like 
them,  in  the  cause  of  liberty.— Pope. 

3  The  exact  reverse  was  the  case  of  course. 

*  This  was  done  one  day  when  Lords  Bolingbroke  and  Bathurst 
Were  dining  with  him  at  Twickenham,— War  ton. 


530  SATIRES. 

Against  your  worship  when  had  Sherlock  writ  ? 
Or  Page  pour  forth  the  torrent  of  his  wit  ?l 
Or  grant  the  bard  whose  distich  all  commend2 
[In  power  a  servant,  out  of  power  a  friend] 
To  Walpole  guilty  of  some  venial  sin; 
What's  that  to  you  who  ne'er  was  out  nor  in? 

The  priest  whose  flattery  bedropt  the  crown,3 
How  hurt  he  you?  he  only  stained  the  gown. 
And  how  did,  pray,  the  florid  youth4  offend,5 
Whose  speech  you  took,  and  gave  it  to  a  friend? 

P.  'Faith,  it  imports  not  much  from  whom  it  came; 
Whoever  borrowed,  could  not  be  to  blame, 
Since  the  whole  house  did  afterwards  the  same. 
Let  courtly  wits  to  wits  afford  supply, 
As  hog  to  hog  in  huts  of  Westphaly; 
If  one,  through  nature's  bounty  or  his  lord's, 
Has  what  the  frugal,  dirty  soil  affords, 
From  him  the  next  receives  it,  thick  or  thin, 
As  pure  a  mess  almost  as  it  came  in; 
The  blessed  benefit,  not  there  confined, 
Drops  to  the  third,  who  nuzzles  close  behind; 
From  tail  to  mouth,  they  feed  and  they  carouse: 
The  last  full  fairly  gives  it  to  the  house. 

F.  This  filthy  simile,  this  beastly  line 
Quite  turns  my  stomach — 

P.  So  does  flatt'ry  mine; 
And  all  your  courtly  civet-cats  can  vent, 
Perfume  to  you,  to  me  is  excrement. 
But  hear  me  further — Japhet,  'tis  agreed, 
Writ  not,  and  Chartres6  scarce  could  write  or  read, 
In  all  the  courts  of  Pindus  guiltless  quite; 
But  pens  can  forge,  my  friend,  that  cannot  write; 
And  must  no  egg  in  Japhet's  face  be  thrown, 
Because  the  deed  he  forged  was  not  my  own  ? 
Must  never  patriot  then  declaim  at  gin, 
Unless,  good  man !  he  has  been  fairly  in  ? 

1  Judge  Page,  said  to  be  a  harsh  judge. 

2  A  verse  taken  out  of  a  poem  to  Sir  R.  W. — Pope.    Lord  Melcomb 
was  the  author  of  this  line  in  a  poem  to  Sir  B.  Walpole. — Warton. 

3  Spoken  not  of  any  particular  priest,  but  of  many  priests. — Pope. 
Meaning  Dr.  Alured  Clarke,  who  wrote  a  panegyric  on  Queen  Caro- 
line.—  War  ton. 

4  Lord  Hervey,  alluding  to  his  painting  his  face.— Bowles. 

6  This  seems  to  allude  to  a  complaint  made  ver.  71  of  the  preceding 
Dialogue. — Pope. 
«  See  the  Epistle  to  Lord  Bathurst.— Pope. 


8AT1EES.  331 

No  zealous  pastor  blame  a  failing  spouse, 
Without  a  staring  reason  on  his  brows  ? 
And  each  blasphemer  quite  escape  the  rod, 
Because  the  insult's  not  on  man,  but  God  ? 

Ask  you  what  provocation  I  have  had  ? 
The  strong  antipathy  of  good  to  bad. 
When  truth  or  virtue  an  affront  endures, 
The  affront  is  mine  my  friend,  and  should  be  yours. 
Mine,  as  a  foe  professed  to  false  pretence, 
Who  think  a  coxcomb's  honour  like  his  sense; 
Mine,  as  friend  to  ev'ry  worthy  mind; 
And  mine  as  man,  who  feel  for  all  mankind. 

F.  You're  strangely  proud. 

P.  So  proud  I  am  no  slave: 
So  impudent,  I  own  myself  no  knave: 
So  odd,  my  country's  ruin  makes  me  grave. 
Yes,  I  am  proud;  I  must  be  proud  to  see 
Men  not  afraid  of  God,  afraid  of  me: 
Safe  from  the  bar,  the  pulpit,  and  the  throne, 
Yet  touched  and  shamed  by  ridicule  alone. 

Oh  sacred  weapon !  left  for  truth's  defence, 
Sole  dread  of  folly,  vice,  and  insolence ! 
To  all  but  heav'n-directed  hands  denied 
The  muse  may  give  thee,  but  the  gods  must  guide: 
E-ev'rent  I  touch  thee !  but  with  honest  zeal, 
To  rouse  the  watchman  of  the  public  weal; 
To  virtue's  work  provoke  the  tardy  Hall, 
And  goad  the  prelate  slumbering  in  his  stall. 
Ye  tinsel  insects!  whom  a  court  maintains, 
That  counts  your  beauties  only  by  your  stains, 
Spin  ah1  your  cobwebs l  o'er  the  eye  of  day ! 
The  muse's  wings  shall  brush  you  all  away: 
All  his  grace  preaches,  all  his  lordship  sings, 
All  that  makes  saints  of  queens,  and  gods  of  kings. 
All,  ah1  but  truth,  drops  dead-born  from  the  press, 
Like  the  last  gazette,  or  the  last  address. 

When  black  ambition  stains  a  public  cause,2 
A  monarch's  sword  when  mad  vain-glory  draws, 
Not  Waller's  wreath  can  hide  the  nation's  scar, 


%J  Weak  and  slight  sophisms  against  virtue  and  honour.  Thin 
colours  over  vice,  as  unable  to  hide  the  light  of  truth,  as  cobwebs  to 
shade  the  sun.— Pope. 

2  The  cause  of  Cromwell  in  the  civil  war  of  England ;  (ver.  229)  and 
of  Louis  XTV.  in  his  conquest  of  the  Low  Countries.  —l\>p& 
Wrote  a  "  Panegyric  to  iuy*Lord  Protector," 


332  SATIRES. 

Nor  Boileau  turn  tlie  feather  to  a  star.1 

Not  so,  when  diademed  with  rays  divine, 
Touched  with  the  flame  that  breaks  from  virtue's 
Her  priestess  muse  forbids  the  good  to  die,     [shrine. 
And  opes  the  temple  of  eternity. 
There,  other  trophies  deck  the  truly  brave, 
Than  such  as  Anstis2  casts  into  the  grave; 
Far  other  stars  than  Kent  and  Grafton  wear, 
And  may  descend  to  Mordington3  from  Stair:4 
(Such  as  on  Hough's B  unsullied  mitre  shine, 
Or  beam,  good  Digby,  from  a  heart  like  thine) 
Let  envy  howl,  while  heav'n's  whole  chorus  sings, 
And  bark  at  honour  not  conferred  by  kings; 
Let  flatt'ry  sickening  see  the  incense  rise, 
Sweet  to  the  world,  and  grateful  to  the  skies: 
Truth  guards  the  poet,  sanctifies  the  line, 
And  makes  immortal,  verse  as  mean  as  mine. 
Yes,  the  last  pen  for  freedom  let  me  draw, 
When  truth  stands  trembling  on  the  edge  of  law; 
Here,  last  of  Britons!  let  your  names  be  read; 
Are  none,  none  living  ?  let  me  praise  the  dead, 
And  for  that  cause  which  made  your  fathers  shine, 
Fall  by  the  votes  of  their  degen'rate  line. 

F.  Alas !  alas !  pray  end  what  you  began, 
And  write  next  winter  more  essays  on  man.6 

»  See  his  "  Ode  on  Namur ;  "  where  (to  use  his  own  words)  "  il  a  fait 
un  Astre  de  la  Plume  blanche  que  le  Roy  porte  ordinairement  a  son 
Chapeau,  et  qui  est  en  effet  uno  espece  de  Comete,  fatale  a,  nos 
ennemis." — Pope. 

2  The  chief  Herald-at-arms.  It  is  the  custom,  at  the  funeral 
of  great  peers,  to  cast  into  the  grave  the  broken  staves  and  ensigns 
of  honour. — Pope. 

3 1  have  some  notion  Lord  Mordington  kept  a  gaming  house— 
Bennet. 

4  John  Dalrymple,  Earl  of  Stair,  Knight  of  the  Thistle :  served  in 
all  the  wars  under  the  Duke  of  Marlborough;  and  afterwards 
as  ambassador  in  Franc©.— Pop*. 

6  Dr.  John  Hough,  Bishop  of  Worcester,  and  the  Lord  Dicby.  The 
one  an  assertor  of  the  Church  of  England  in  opposition  to  the  false 
measures  of  King  James  II.  The  other  as  firmly  attached  to 
the  cause  of  that  king.  Both  acting  out  of  principle,  and  equally 
men  of  honour  and  virtue.— Pope. 

«  Ver.  255  in  the  MS.  — 

Quit,  quit  these  themes,  and  write  essays  on  man. 

This  was  the  last  poem  of  the  kind  printed  by  our  author,  with  a 
resolution  to  publish  no  more ;  bui  to  enter  thus,  in  the  most  plain 
and  solemn  manner  he  could,  a  sort  of  protest  against  that  insuper- 
able corruption  and  depravity  of  manners  which  he  had  been 
so  unhappy  as  to  live  to  see.  Could  he  have  hoped  to  have  amended 
any,  he  had  continued  those  attacks;  but  bad  men  were  grown  so 
shameless  and  so  powerful,  that  ridicule  was  become  as  unsafe  as  it 
was  ineffectual.  The  poem  raised  him,  as  he  knew  it  would,  some 
enemies;  but  he  had  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the  approbation  o£ 
good  men,  and  the  testimony  of  his  own  conscience.— Pope. 


EPISTLES. 


EPISTLE   TO   EOBEET,   EAKL  OF   OXFOED, 
AND  EAEL   MOETIMEE.1 

SUCH  were  the  notes  thy  once  loved  poet  sung,2 
Till  death  untimely  stopped  his  tuneful  tongue. 
Oh  just  beheld,  and  lost!  admired  and  mourned!  . 
With  softest  manners,  gentlest  arts  adorned ! 
Blessed  in  each  science,  blessed  in  every  strain ! 
Dear  to  the  muse!  to  Harley  dear — in  vain! 

For  him,  thou  oft  hast  bid  the  world  attend, 
Fond  to  forget  the  statesman  in  the  friend ; 
For  Swift  and  him  despised  the  farce  of  state, 
The  sober  follies  of  the  wise  and  great ; 
Dext'rous  the  craving,  fawning  crowd  to  quit, 
And  pleased  to  'scape  from  flattery  to  wit. 

Absent  or  dead,  still  let  a  friend  be  dear 
(A  sigh  the  absent  claims,  the  dead  a  tear) ; 
Eecall  those  nights  that  closed  thy  toilsome  days ; 
Still  hear  thy  Parnell  in  his  living  lays, 
Who,  careless  now  of  iiit'rest,  fame,  or  fate, 
Perhaps  forgets  that  Oxford  e'er  was  great ; 
Or,  deeming  meanest  what  we. greatest  call, 
Beholds  thee  glorious  only  in  thy  fall. 

And  sure,  if  aught  below  the  seats  divine 
Can  touch  immortals,  'tis  a  soul  like,  thine  : 
A  soul  supreme  in  each  hard  instance  tried, 
Above  all  pain,  all  passion,  and  all  pride, 
The  rage  of  power,  the  blast  of  public  breath, 
The  lust  of  lucre,  and  the  dread  of  death. 

i  Robert  Harley,  Earl  of  Oxford,  was  born  1661,  died  1724.  He  was 
the  distinguished  minister  of  the  last  days  of  Queen  Anne.  To  Lord 
Oxford  we  are  indebted  for  forming  the  splendid  collection  known 
as  the  "  Harleian  MSS."  They  contain  information  on  nearly  every 
subject,  and  were  much,  referred  to  by  Macaulay  in  his  "  History  of 
England."  Lord  Oxford  was  a  great  patron  of  literary  men.  Ho 
was  impeached  for  treason  by  the  Whigs  in  1715  and  committed  to 
the  Tower;  but  the  Commons  refused  to  prosecute,  and  he  was 
released. 

a  This  epistle  was  sent  to  the  Earl  of  Oxford  with  Dr.  Parnell 's 
poems  published  by  our  author,  after  the  said  earl's  imprisonment 
in  the  Tower,  and  retreat  into  tiie  country,  in  the  year  1721.— Po^e. 


334  EPISTLES. 

In  vain  to  deserts  thy  retreat  is  made  ; 
The  muse  attends  thee  to  thy  silent  shade  : 
"Tis  hers,  the  brave  man's  latest  steps  to  trace, 
Rejudge  his  acts,  and  dignify  disgrace. 
When  interest  calls  off  all  her  sneaking  train, 
And  all  the  obliged  desert,  and  all  the  vain ; 
She  waits,  or  to  the  scaffold,  or  the  cell, 
When  the  last  ling'ring  friend  has  bid  farewell 
Even  now,  she  shades  thy  evening  walk  with  bays 
(No  hireling  she,  no  prostitute  to  praise); 
Even  now,  observant  of  the  parting  ray, 
Eyes  the  calm  sunset  of  thy  various  day, 
Through  fortune's  cloud  one  truly  great  can  see, 
Nor  fears  to  tell,  that  Mortimer  is  he.1 


EPISTLE  TO  JAMES  CEAGGS2  ESQ., 

SECRETARY    OF    STATE. 

A  SOUL  as  full  of  worth,  as  void  of  pride, 
Which  nothing  seeks  to  show,  or  needs  to  hide, 
Which  nor  to  guilt  nor  fear,  its  caution  owes, 
And  boasts  a  warmth  that  from  no  passion  flows. 
A  face  untaught  to  feign;  a  judging  eye, 
That  darts  severe  upon  a  rising  lie, 
And  strikes  a  blush  through  frontless  flattery. 
All  this  thou  wert,  and  being  this  before, 
Know,  kings  and  fortune  cannot  make  thee  more. 
Then  scorn  to  gain  a  friend  by  servile  ways, 
Nor  wish  to  lose  a  foe  these  virtues  raise; 
But  candid,  free,  sincere,  as  you  began, 
Proceed, — a  minister,  but  still  a  man. 
Be  not,  exalted  to  whate'er  degree, 
Ashamed  of  any  friend,  not  even  of  me: 
The  patriot's  plain,  but  untrod,  path  pursue; 
If  not,  'tis  I  must  Toe  ashamed  of  you.3 

1  Every  word  of  this  eulogy  was  deserved . 

2  James  Craggs  was  made  Secretary  of  War  in  1717,  when  the  Earl 
of  Sunderland  and  Mr.  Addisoii  were  appointed  Secretaries  of  State. 
He  was  deeply  implicated  in  the  South  Sea  Scheme.— Bowb's. 

3  The  following  (dialogue  is  printed  by  Bowles  at  the  end  of  this 
Epistle, 

1717. 

Pope. — Since  my  old  friend  is  grown  so  great 
As  to  be  Minister  of  State, 


EPISTLES.  335 


EPISTLE  TO  MR.  JARVIS.1 

WITH  ME.  DKYDEN'S  TRANSLATION  OF  EKESNOY'S  ART 
OF  PAINTING. 

THIS  verse  be  thine,  my  friend,  nor  tliou  refuse 
This,  from  no  venal  or  ungrateful  muse. 
Whether  thy  hand  strike  out  some  free  design, 
Where  life  awakes,  and  dawns  at  ev'ry  line; 
Or  blend  in  beauteous  tints  the  coloured  mass, 
And  from  the  canvas  call  the  mimic  face : 
Bead  these  instructive  leaves,  in  which  conspire 
Fresnoy's  close  art,  and  Dry  den's  native  fire; 
And  reading  wish,  like  theirs,  our  fate  and  fame, 
So  mixed  our  studies,  and  so  joined  our  name: 
Like  them  to  shine  through  long-succeeding  age, 
So  just  thy  skill,  so  regular  my  rage. 

Smit  with  the  love  of  sister-arts  we  came.2 
And  met  congenial,  mingling  flame  with  flame; 
Like  friendly  colours  found  them  both  unite, 
And  each  from  each  contract  new  strength  and  light. 
How  oft  in  pleasing  tasks  we  wear  the  day, 
While  summer  suns  roll  unperceived  away; 
How  oft  our  slowly-growing  works  impart, 
While  images  reflect  from  art  to  art; 
How  oft  review;  each  finding  like  a  friend 
Something  to  blame,  and  something  to  commend. 

What  flatt'ring  scenes  our  wand 'ring  fancy  wrought, 
Rome's  pompous  glories  rising  to  our  thought ! 
Together  o'er  the  Alps  methinks  we  fly, 
Fired  with  ideas  of  fair  Italy. 
With  thee,  on  Raphael's 3  monument  I  mourn, 
Or  wait  inspiring  dreams  at  Maro's  urn: 
With  thee  repose,  where  Tully  once  was  laid, 

I'm  told,  but  'tis  not  true,  I  hope, 
That  Craggs  will  be  ashamed  of  Pope. 

Craggs. — Alas !  if  I  am  such  a  creature 

To  grow  the  worse  for  growing  geater ; 
Why,  faith,  in  spite  of  all  my  brags, 
'Tis  Pope  must  be  ashamed  of  .Craggs. 

1  This  epistte,  and  the  two  following,  were  written  some  years  before 
the  rest  and  originally  printed  in  nil.— Pope. 

Jervas  owed  much  of  his  reputation  to  this  Epistle.—  Wartrni. 

2  Pope  was  a  good  painter ;  a  portrait  by  his  hand  is  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  at  Arundel  Castle. — See  Life.. 

3  Raphael  Urbino,  born  J483,  died  1520,  a  great  Italian  painter. 


336  EPISTLES. 

Or  seek  some  ruin's  formidable  shade: 

While  fancy  brings  the  vanished  piles  to  view, 

And  builds  imaginary  Rome  anew; 

Here  thy  well-studied  marbles  fix  our  eye;1 

A  fading  Fresco  here  demands  a  sigh: 

Each  heav'nly  piece  unwearied  we  compare, 

Match  Raphael's  grace  with  thy  loved  Guido's2  air, 

Caracci's  strength,  Correggio's  softer  line, 

Paulo's  free  stroke,  and  Titian's  warmth  divine. 

How  finished  with  illustrious  toil  appears 
This  small,  well-polished  gem,  the  work  of  years ! $ 
Yet  still  how  faint  by  precept  is  exprest 
The  living  image  in  the  painter's  breast! 
Thence  endless  dreams  of  fair  ideas  flow, 
Strike  in  the  sketch,  or  in  the  picture  glow: 
Thence  beauty,  waking  all  her  forms,  supplies 
An  angel's  sweetness,  or  Bridgewater's 4  eyes. 

Muse !  at  that  name  thy  sacred  sorrows  shed, 
Those  tears  eternal,  that  embalm  the  dead  : 
Call  round  her  tomb  each  object  of  desire, 
Each  purer  frame  informed  with  purer  fire  : 
Bid  her  be  all  that  cheers  or  softens  life, 
The  tender  sister,  daughter,  friend,  and  wife  : 
Bid  her  be  all  that  bids  mankind  adore  ; 
Then  view  this  marble  and  be  vain  no  more ! 

Yet  still  her  charms  in  breathing  paint  engage  ; 
Her  modest  cheek  shall  warm  a  future  age.5 
Beauty,  frail  flower  that  every  season  fears, 
Blooms  in  thy  colours  for  a  thousand  years. 
Thus  Churchill's  race  shall  other  hearts  surprise,8 

1  Jervas  was  sent  to  Romo  at  the  expense  of  Dr.  Clarke,  M.P.  for  the 
university  of  Oxford. 

2  Guido,  Caracci,  Correggio,  Paulo,  Titian.    Reni  Guido,  born  1575, 
died  1642,  a  great  Italian  painter ;  his  best  work  is  "  the  Penitence  of 
St. Peter  after  denying  Christ."  His  female  heads  are  very  lovely.  The 
Caracci,  or  as  more  commonly  spelt  Carracci,  were  famous  painters. 
Luigi,  probably  here  alluded  to,  was  the  founder  of  a  famous  school 
of  painting  at  Bologna.     He  was  noted  for  strength  and  simplicity  of 
style.    Born  1555,  died  1619.    Augustin  and  Annibal  were  also  cele- 
brated painters.    Correggio  was  born  1494,  died  1534.    A  very  great 
Italian  painter,  never  excelled  in  the  delicacy  of  his  flesh  colouring, 
Paulo  Veronese,  born  at  Verona  1530,  died  1588.    Titian,  born  1477. 
died  1576.    The  great  master  of  colour. 

3  Fresnoy  employed  above  twenty  years  in  finishing  his  poem. — 
Pope. 

4  The  beautiful  Lady  Bridge  water.    Jervas  was  in  love  with  her. 
6  Lady  Bridgewater  had  been  painted  by  Jervas. 

6  "  Churchill's  race  "  were  the  four  beautiful  daughters  of  John, 
the  great  Duke  of  Marlborough ;  Henrietta,  Countess  of  Goclolphin, 
afterwards  Duchess  of  Marlborough;  Anne,  Countess  of  Sunderland; 


EPISTLES.  337 

And  other  beauties  envy  Worsley's  eyes;1 

Each  pleasing  Blount 2  shall  endless  smiles  bestow. 

And  soft  Belinda's 3  blush  for  ever  glow. 

Oh  lasting  as  those  colours  may  they  shine, 
Free  as  thy  stroke,  yet  faultless  as  thy  line; 
New  graces  yearly  like  thy  works  display, 
Soft  without  weakness,  without  glaring  gay; 
Led  by  some  rule,  that  guides,  but  not  constrains; 
And  finished  more  through  happiness  than  pains. 
The  kindred  arts  shall  in  their  praise  conspire; 
One  dip  the  pencil,  and  one  string  the  lyre. 
Yet  should  the  graces  all  thy  figures  place, 
And  breath  an  air  divine  on  ev'ry  face; 
Yet  should  the  muses  bid  my  numbers  roll 
Strong  as  their  charms,  and  gentle  as  their  soul; 
With  Zeuxis'  Helen  thy  Bridgewater  vie, 
And  these  be  sung  till  Granville's  Mira  die; 
Alas !  how  little  from  the  grave  we  claim ! 
Thou  but  preservest  a  face,  and  I  a  name. 


EPISTLE  TO  MISS  BLOUNT,4 

WITH  THE  WORKS  OF  VOITURE.s 

IN  these  gay  thoughts  the  loves  and  graces  shine, 
And  all  the  writer  lives  in  ev'ry  line; 
His  easy  art  may  happy  nature  seem, 
Trifles  themselves  are  elegant  in  him. 

Elizabeth,  Countess  of  Bridgewater ;  and  Mary,  Duchess  of  Montagu. 
Lady  Bridgewater,  whom  Jervas  affected  to  be  in  love  with,  and  who 
'amused  herself  at  his  expense,  was  the  most  beautiful  of  the  four 
sisters.  She  died  (aged  27)  in  March  1713  or  1714.  In  1720  her  hus- 
band was  created  Duke  of  Bridgewater. — Bowles. 

1  Frances  Lady  Worsley,  wife  of  Sir  Robert  Worsley,  Bart.,  mother 
of  Lady  Carteret,  wife  of  John  Lord  Carteret,  afterward  Earl  Gran- 
ville.—  War  ton. 

2  Teresa  and  Martha  Blount,  the  dear  friends  of  the  poet. 

3  Mrs.  Arabella  Fermor. 

4  Teresa  and  Martha  Blount  were  the  sisters  of  Pope's  great  friend 
Edward  Blount,  an  excellent  young  man,  of  the  same  religion  as 
the  poet,  and  faithful  to  the  cause  of  the  Stuarts.    They  lived  at 
Maple-Durham,  near  Reading,  Berks.    The  sisters  described  as 

"  Fair-haired  Martha  and  Teresa  brown," 

were  both  great  favourites  of  Pope's.  He  is  said  to  have  been  in  love 
at  first  with  Teresa;  but  as  she  rejected  him  he  transferred  his 
affections  to  the  sister  who  appeared  really  to  love  him,  to  Martha 
Blount 

2  Voiture  was  an  elegant  French  writer,  born  1598,  died  1648.    He 
wrote  witty  poems  and  letters. 


338  EPISTLES. 

Sure  to  charm  all  was  his  peculiar  fate, 
Who  without  flatt'ry  pleased  the  fair  and  great; 
Still  with  esteem  no  less  conversed  than  read; 
With  wit  well-natured,  and  with  books  well-bred; 
His  heart,  his  mistress,  and  his  friend  did  share, 
His  time,  the  muse,  the  witty,  and  the  fair. 
Thus  wisely  careless,  innocently  gay, 
Cheerful  he  played  the  trine,  Life,  away; 
Till  fate  scarce  felt  his  gentle  breath  supprest, 
As  smiling  infants  sport  themselves  to  rest. 
E'en  rival  wits  did  Voiture's  death  deplore, 
And  the  gay  mourn' d  who  never  mourned  before; 
The  truest  hearts  for  Voiture  heaved  with  sighs, 
Voiture  was  wept  by  all  the  brightest  eyes: 
The  smiles  and  loves  had  died  in  Voiture's  death, 
But  that  for  ever  in  his  lines  they  breathe. 

Let  the  strict  life  of  graver  mortals  be 
A  long,  exact,  and  serious  comedy; 
In  every  scene  some  moral  let  it  teach, 
And,  if  it  can,  at  once  both  please  and  preach. 
Let  mine,  an  innocent  gay  farce  appear, 
And  more  diverting  still  than  regular, 
Have  humour,  wit,  a  native  ease  and  grace, 
Though  not  too  strictly  bound  to  time  and  place: 
Critics  in  wit,  or  life,  are  hard  to  please, 
Few  write  to  those,  and  none  can  live  to  these. 

Too  much  your  sex  is  by  their  forms  confined, 
Severe  to  all,  but  most  to  womankind; 
Custom,  grown  blind  with  age,  must  be  your  guide; 
Your  pleasure  is  a  vice,  but  not  your  pride; 
By  nature  yielding,  stubborn  but  for  fame; 
Made  slaves  by  honour,  and  made  fools  by  shame, 
Marriage  may  all  those  petty  tyrants  chase, 
But  sets  up  one,  a  greater,  in  their  place. 
Well  might  you  wish  for  change  by  those  accurst; 
But  the  last  tyrant  ever  proves  the  worst. 
Still  in  constraint  your  suffering  sex  remains, 
Or  bound  in  formal,  or  in  real  chains: 
Whole  years  neglected,  for  some  months  adored, 
The  fawning  servant  turns  a  haughty  lord. 
Ah  quit  not  the  free  innocence  of  life, 
For  the  dull  glory  of  a  virtuous  wife; 
Nor  let  false  shows,  or  empty  titles  please: 
Aim  not  at  joy,  but  rest  content  with  ease. 


EPISTLES.  339 

The  Gods,  to  curse  Pamela  with  her  prayers, 
Gave  the  gilt  coach  and  dappled  Flanders  mares, 
The  shining  robes,  rich  jewels,  beds  of  state, 
And,  to  complete  her  bliss,  a  fool  for  mate. 
She  glares  in  balls,  front  boxes,  and  the  ring, 
A  vain,  unquiet,  glitt'ring,  wretched  thing ! 
Pride,  pomp,  and  state  but  reach  her  outward  part; 
She  sighs,  and  is  no  duchess  at  her  heart. 

But,  madam,  if  the  fates  withstand,  and  you 
Are  destined  Hymen's  willing  victim  too; 
Trust  not  too  much  your  now  resistless  charms, 
Those,  age  or  sickness,  soon  or  late  disarms: 
Good  humour  only  teaches  charms  to  last, 
Still  makes  new  conquests,  and  maintains  the  past; 
Love,  raised  on  beauty,  will  like  that  decay, 
Our  hearts  may  bear  its  slender  chain  a  day; 
As  flow'ry  bands  in  wantonness  are  worn, 
A  morning's  pleasure,  and  at  evening  torn; 
This  binds  in  ties  more  easy,  yet  more  strong, 
The  willing  heart,  and  only  holds  it  long. 

Thus  Voiture's1  early  care  still  shone  the  same, 
And  Montausier2  was  only  changed  in  name: 
By  this,  even  now  they  live,  even  now  they  charm, 
Their  wit  still  sparkling,  and  their  flames  still  warm. 

Now  crowned  with  myrtle,  on  the  Elysian  coast, 
Amid  those  lovers,  joys  his  gentle  ghost: 
Pleased,  while  with  smiles  his  happy  lines  you  view, 
And  finds  a  fairer  Eambouillet  in  you. 
The  brightest  eyes  of  France  inspires  his  muse: 
The  brightest  eyes  of  Britain  now  peruse; 
And  dead,  as  living,  'tis  the  author's  pride 
Still  to  charm  those  who  charm  the  world  beside. 

1  Mademoiselle  Paulet. — Pope. 

2  Madame  de  Montausier,  wife  of  the  Duke  de  Montausier,  was  the 
beautiful  daughter  of  Madame  de  Kamboiiillet,  whose  salmis  were  so 
celebrated  in  France.    Voit'ire  was  one  of  her  intimate  friends,  and 
presided  at  these  literary  reunions,  where  the  wits  of  the  age  assem 
bled. 


EPISTLES. 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  SAME, 

ON  HER  LEAVING  THE  TOWN   AFTER  THE  CORONATION.' 

As  SOME  fond  virgin,  whom  her  mother's  care 
Drags  from  the  town  to  wholesome  country  air, 
Just  when  she  learns  to  roll  a  melting  eye, 
And  hear  a  spark,  yet  think  no  danger  nigh: 
From  the  dear  man  unwilling  she  must  sever, 
Yet  takes  one  kiss  before  she  parts  for  ever: 
Thus  from  the  world  fair  Zephalinda2  flew, 
Saw  others  happy,  and  with  sighs  withdrew; 
Not  that  their  pleasures  caused  her  discontent, 
She  sighed  not  that  they  stayed,  but  that  she  went. 

She  went,  to  plain- work,  and  to  purling  brooks, 
Old  fashioned  halls,  dull  aunts,  and  croaking  rooks ; 
She  went  from  op'ra,  park,  assembly,  play, 
To  morning- walks,  and  pray'rs  three  hours  a  day; 
To  part  her  time  'twixt  reading  and  bohea; 
To  muse,  and  spiU  her  solitary  tea; 
Or  o'er  cold  coffee  trifle  with  the  spoon, 
Count  the  slow  clock,  and  dine  exact  at  noon; 
Divert  her  eyes  with  pictures  in  the  fire, 
Hum  half  a  tune,  tell  stories  to  the  squire; 
Up  to  her  godly  garret  after  sev'n, 
There  starve  and  pray,  for  that's  the  way  to  heav'n. 

Some  squire,  perhaps  you  take  delight  to  rack; 
Whose  game  is  whisk,3  whose  treat  a  toast  in  sack  ; 
"Who  visits  with  a  gun,  presents  you  birds, 
Then  gives  a  smacking  buss,  and  cries, — "No  words !" 
Or  with  his  hound  comes  hallooing  from  the  stable, 
Makes  love  with  nods,  and  knees  beneath  a  table, 
AVhose  laughs  are  hearty,  though  his  jest  are  coarse. 
And  loves  you  best  of  all  things — but  his  horse.4 

In  some  fair  ev'nmg,  on  your  elbow  laid, 
You  dream  of  triumphs  in  the  rural  shade: 
In  pensive  thought  recall  the  fancied  scene, 
See  coronations  rise  on  ev'ry  green; 

1  Of  King  George  the  First,  1715. 

2  The  assumed  name  of  Theresa  Blount,  under  which  she  corres- 
ponded for  many  years  with  the  Mr,  Moore  of  the  Dunciad,  under 
the  feigned  name  of  Alexis.    Martha  was  called  Parthenia. — Bowles, 

3  Whist,  *  See  Locksley  Hall. 


EPISTLES.  341 

Before  you  pass  th'  imaginary  sights 
Of  lords,  and  earls,  and  dukes,  and  gartered  knights, 
While  the  spread  fan  o'ershades  you  closing  eyes; 
Then  give  one  flirt,  and  all  the  vision  flies. 
Thus  vanish  sceptres,  coronets,  and  balls, 
And  leave  you  in  lone  woods,  or  empty  walls ! 
So  when  your  slave,  at  some  dear  idle  time, 
(Not  plagued  with  headaches,  or  the  want  of  rhyme) 
Stands  in  the  streets,  abstracted  from  the  crew, 
And  while  he  seems  to  study,  thinks  of  you; 
Just  when  his  fancy  points  your  sprightly  eyes, 
Or  sees  the  blush  of  soft  Parthenia  rise, 
Gay  pats  my  shoulder,  and  you  vanish  quite, 
Streets,  chairs,  and  coxcombs,  rush  upon  my  sight 
Vexed  to  be  still  in  town,  I  knit  my  brow, 
Look  sour,  and  hum  a  tune,  as  you  may  now. 


EPITAPHS. 


His  saltum  accumulem  donin,  et  fnngar  inani 
Munerel  Virg.  ^En.  VH.  vv.  885,  6. 


L__ON  CHARLES  EARL  OF  DORSET. 

IN  THE  CHURCH  OF  WITHYAM  IN  SUSSEX  (1706). 

DORSET,  the  grace  of  the  courts,  the  Muses'  pride, 

Patron  of  arts,  and  judge  of  nature,  died. 

The  scourge  of  pride,  though  sanctified  or  great, 

Of  fops  in  learning,  and  of  knaves  in  state: 

Yet  soft  his  nature,  though  severe  his  lay; 

His  anger  moral,  and  his  wisdom  gay. 

Blest  satirist !  who  touched  the  mean  so  true, 

And  show'd,  vice  had  his  hate  and  pity  too. 

Blest  courtier !  who  could  king  and  country  please, 

Yet  sacred  keep  his  friendships,  and  his  ease. 

Blest  peer !  his  great  forefathers'  ev'ry  grace 

Reflecting,  and  reflected  in  his  race; 

Where  other  Buckhursts,  other  Dorsets  shine, 

And  patriots  still,  or  poets,   deck  the  line. 


SIR  WILLIAM  TRUMBULL, 

ONE  OF   THE    PRINCIPAL    SECRETARIES  OF    STATE   TO   KING    WILLIAM 

Who  Having  resigned  his  place,  died  in  his  retirement  at  East- 
hainpsted  in  Berkshire,  171G. 

A  PLEASING  form;  a  firm,  yet  cautious  mind; 
Sincere,  though  prudent:  constant,  yet  resigned: 
Honour  unchanged,  a  principle  profest, 
Fixed  to  one  side,  but  moderate  to  the  rest: 
An  honest  courtier,  yet  a  patriot  too; 
Just  to  his  prince,  and  to  his  country  true: 
Filled  with  the  sense  of  age,  the  fire  of  youth, . 
A  scorn  of  wrangling,  yet  a  zeal  for  truth; 


EPITAPHS.  343 

A  gen'rous  faith,  from  superstition  free; 

A  love  to  peace,  and  hate  of  tyranny; 

Such  this  man  was;  who  now,  from  earth  removed, 

At  length  enjoys  that  liberty  he  loved. 


HI— ON  THE  HON.  SIMON  HAKCOUET, 

ONLY  SON  OF  THE  LORD  CHANCELLOR  HARCOURT; 

At  the  Church  of  Stanton-Harcourt  in  Oxfordshire,  1720. 

To  this  sad  shrine,  whoe'er  thou  art !  draw  near; 
Here  lies  the  friend  most  loved,  the  son  most  dear; 
Who  ne'er  knew  joy,  but  friendship  might  divide, 
Or  gave  his  father  grief  but  when  he  died. 

How  vain  is  reason,  eloquence  how  weak ! 
If  Pope  must  tell  what  Harcourt  cannot  speak. 
Oh  let  thy  once-loved  friend  inscribe  thy  stone, 
And,  with  a  father's  sorrows,  mix  his  own ! 


JAMES  CKAGGS,  ESQ., 

IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 

JACOBUS    CRAGGS, 

EEGI  MAGN^E  BRITANNIJE  A  SECRETIS 

ET  CONSILIIS  SANCTIORIBU8. 

PRINCIPIS  PARITER  AC  POPULI  AMOR  ET  DELICLEt 

VIXIT  TITULIS  ET  1NVIDIA  MAJOR 

ANNOS,  HEU  PAUCOS,  XXXV. 

OB.   FEB.  XVI.  MDCCXX. 

TATESMAN,  yet  friend  to  truth !  of  soul  sincere, 
In  action  faithful,  and  in  honour  clear! 
Who  broke  no  promise,  served  no  private  end; 
Who  gained  no  title,  and  who  lost  no  friend; 
Ennobled  by  himself,  by  all  approved; 
Praised,  wept,  and  honoured,  by  the  muse  he  loved. 


344  EPITAPHS. 


V.— INTENDED  FOU  ME.  EOWE, 

IN    WESTMINSTER   ABBEY. 

THY  relics,  Rowe,  to  this  fair  urn  we  trust, 
And  sacred,  place  by  Dry  den's  awful  dust: 
Beneath  a  rude  and  nameless  stone  he  lies, 
To  which  thy  tomb  shall  guide  inquiring  eyes. 
Peace  to  thy  gentle  shade,  and  endless  rest ! 
Blest  in  thy  genius,  in  thy  love  too  blest ! 
One  grateful  woman  to  thy  fame  supplies 
What  a  whole  thankless  land  to  his  denies.1 


n. 
ON  ROWE. 

He  altered  it  much  for  the  better  as  it  now  stands  in  the 
abbey  on  the  monument  erected  to  Rowe  and  Ms  daughter. 

THY  reliques,  Rowe,  to  this  sad  shrine  we  trust 
And  near  thy  Shakespeare  place  thy  honoured  bust. 
Oh,  next  him,  skilled  to  draw  the  tender  tear 
For  never  heart  felt  passion  more  sincere, 
To  nobler  sentiment  to  fire  the  brave, 
For  never  Briton  more  disdained  a  slave. 
Peace  to  thy  gentle  shade  and  endless  rest. 
Blest  in  thy  genius,  in  thy  love  too  blest ! 
And  blest,  that  timely  from  our  seal  removed 
Thy  soul  enjoys  the  liberty  it  loved. 

To  these  so  mourned  in  death,  so  loved  in  life 
The  childless  parent  and  the  widowed  wife 
With  tears  inscribes  this  monumental  stone 
That  holds  their  ashes  and  expects  her  own. 

1  The  tomb  of  Mr.  Dryden  was  erected  upon  this  hint  by  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham ;  to  which  was  originally  intended  this  epitaph, 

This  Sheffield  raised.    The  sacred  dust  below 
Was  Dryden  once.    The  rest  who  does  not  know? 

which  the  author  since  changed  into  the  plain  inscription  now  upon 
it,  being  only  the  name  of  the  great  poet. 

J.  DRYDEN. 

Natus  Aug.  9, 1631.    Mortuus  Maij  1,  1700. 
JOANNES  SHEFFIELD  DUX  BUCKINGHAMIENSIS  POSUIT. 


EPITAPHS.  345 


MKS.   COEBET, 

WHO   DIED   OF    JL    CANCER   IN    HER   BREAST. 

HERE  rests  a  woman,  good  without  pretence, 
Blest  with  plain  reason,  and  with  sober  sense: 
No  conquests  she,  but  o'er  herself,  desired, 
No  arts  essayed,  but  not  to  be  admired. 
Passion  and  pride  were  to  her  soul  unknown, 
Convinced  that  virtue  only  is  our  own. 
So  unaffected,  so  composed  a  mind; 
So  firm,  yet  soft;  so  strong,  yet  so  refined; 
Heaven,  as  its  purest  gold,  by  tortures  tried; 
The  saint  sustained  it,  but  the  woman  died. 


VII— ON   THE   MONUMENT    OF   THE    HON. 

EOBEKT  DIGBY,  AND  OF  HIS  SISTEE 

MAEY. 

ERECTED  BY  THEIR  FATHER,  THE  LORD  DIGBY, 

In  the  Church  of  Sherborne  in  Dorsetshire,  1727. 

Go !  fair  example  of  untainted  youth, 

Of  modest  wisdom,  and  pacific  truth. 

Composed  in  suffrings,  and  in  joy  sedate, 

Good  without  noise,  without  pretension  great. 

Just  of  thy  word,  in  ev'ry  thought  sincere, 

Who  knew  no  wish  but  what  the  world  might  hear: 

Of  softest  manners,  unaffected  mind, 

Lover  of  peace,  and  friend  of  human  kind: 

Go  live !  for  heav'n's  eternal  year  is  thine, 

Go,  and  exalt  thy  Mortal  to  Divine. 

And  thou,  blest  Maid !  attendant  on  his  doom,1 
Pensive  hast  followed  to  the  silent  tomb, 
Steered  the  same  course  to  the  same  quiet  shore, 
Not  parted  long,  and  now  to  part  no  more ! 
Go  then,  where  only  bliss  sincere  is  known ! 
Go,  where  to  love  and  to  enjoy  are  one ! 

i  Mr.  Digby  died  of  consumption,  and  was  followed  by  the  affec,- 
tur  who  had  hung  over  his  sick  bed,— 


346  EPITAPHS. 

Yet  take  these  tears,  morality's  relief, 
And  till  we  share  your  joys,  forgive  our  grief: 
These  little  rites,  a  stone,  a  verse,  receive: 
'Tis  all  a  father,  all  a  friend  can  give ! 


Vin.— ON  SIR  GODFREY  KNELLER, 

IN    WESTMINSTER   ABBEY,   1723.1 

KNELLEK,  by  heaven,  and  not  a  master,  taught, 
Whose  art  was  Nature,  and  whose  pictures  Thought; 
Now  for  two  ages  having  snatched  from  fate 
Whate'er  was  beauteous,  or  whate'er  was  great, 
Lies  crowned  with  princes'  honours,  poets'  lays, 
Due  to  his  merit,  and  brave  thirst  of  praise. 

Living,  great  Nature  feared  he  might  outvie 
Her  works;  and  dying,  fears  herself  may  die. 


IX.— ON  GENERAL  HENRY  WITHERS. 

IN   WESTMINSTER   ABBEY,    1729. 

HERE,  Withers,  rest !  thou  bravest,  gentlest  mind, 

Thy  country's  friend,  but  more  of  human  kind. 

Oh  born  to  arms !  O  worth  in  youth  approved ! 

O  soft  humanity,  in  age  beloved ! 

For  thee  the  hardy  vet'ran  drops  a  tear, 

And  the  gay  courtier  feels  the  sigh  sincere. 

Withers,  adieu !  yet  not  with  thee  remove 
Thy  martial  spirit,  or  thy  social  love ! 
Amidst  corruption,  luxury,  and  rage, 
Still  leaves  some  ancient  virtues  to  our  age: 
Nor  let  us  say  (those  English  glories  gone) 
The  last  true  Briton  lies  beneath  this  stone. 

1  Pope  had  made  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  on  his  death-bed,  a  promts* 
to  write  his  epitaph,  which  he  seems  to  have  performed  with  re- 
luctance. He  thought  it  "  the  worst  thing  he  ever  wrote  in  his  Ufe, 


EPITAPHS.  347 

X.— ON    ME.    ELIJAH    FENTON,1 

AT    EASTHAMSTEAD    IN    BERKS,   1730. 

THIS  modest  stone,  what  few  vain  marbles  can, 

May  truly  say,  Here  lies  an  honest  man: 

A  poet,  blessed  beyond  the  poet's  fate, 

Whom  Heaven  kept  sacred  from  the  proud  and  great; 

Foe  to  loud  praise,  and  friend  to  learned  ease, 

Content  with  science  in  the  Vale  of  Peace. 

Calmly  he  looked  on  either  life,  and  here 

Saw  nothing  to  regret,  or  there  to  fear; 

From  nature's  temp'rate  feast  rose  satisfied, 

Thanked  heaven  that  he  had  lived,  and  that  he  died. 


XI.— ON  MB.   GAY, 

IX    WESTMINSTER    ABBEY,    1732. 

OF  manners  gentle,  of  affection  mild; 
In  wit,  a  man;  simplicity,  a  child: 
With  native  humour  temp'ring  virtuous  rage, 
Formed  to  delight  at  once  and  lash  the  age: 
Above  temptation,  in  a  low  estate, 
And  uncorrupted,  even  among  the  great: 
A  safe  companion,  and  an  easy  friend, 
Unblamed  through  life,  lamented  in  thy  end. 
These  are  thy  honours !  not  that  here  thy  bust 
Is  mixed  with  heroes,  or  with  kings  thy  dust; 
But  that  the  worthy  and  the  good  shall  say, 
Striking  their  pensive  bosoms — Here  lies  Gray,, 


ANOTHER 

WELL  then  poor  Gay  lies  under  ground, 

So  there's  an  end  of  honest  Jack; 

So  little  justice  here  he  found 

'Tis  ten  to  one  he'll  ne'er  come  back. 

1  A  poet  of  no  mean  acquirements ;  he  translated  part  ol  the  Odys* 
807  for  Pope,  who  only  did  the  first  twelve  books  himself. 


348  EPITAPHS. 

XH.— INTENDED  FOE  SIR  ISAAC  NEWTON, 

IN    WESTMINSTER   ABBEY. 

ISAACUS  NEWTONUS: 

Quern  Immortalem 
Testantur  Tempus,  Natura,  Coelum : 

Mortalem 
Hoc  marmor  fatetur. 

NATURE  and  Nature's  laws  lay  hid  in  night: 
God  said,  "Let  Newton  be !  "  l  and  all  was  light 


XHL— ON  DR.  FRANCIS  ATTERBURY, 

BISHOP   OF    ROCHESTER, 

Who  died  in  exile  at  Paris,  1732,  (his  only  daughter  having  expired 
in  his  arms,  immediately  after  she  arrived  in  France  to  see  him.) 

DIALOGUE. 

SHE. 

YES,  we  have  lived — one  pang,  and  then  we  part! 
May  Heav'n,  dear  father !  now  have  all  thy  heart. 
X"et  ah !  how  once  we  loved,  remember  still, 
Till  you  are  dust  like  me. 

HE. 

Dear  shade!  I  will: 

Then  mix  this  dust  with  thine — O  spotless  ghost ! 
O  more  than  fortune,  friends,  or  country  lost ! 
Is  there  on  earth  one  care,  one  wish  beside  ? 
Yes —  Save  my  country,  Heaven! 

He  said,  and  died. 


XIV.— ON  EDMUND  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM, 

Who  died  in  the  nineteenth  year  of  his  age,  1735. 

IF  modest  youth,  with  cool  reflection  crowned, 
And  every  op'ning  virtue  blooming  round, 
Could  save  a  parent's  justest  pride  from  fate, 

1  Ke  was  feorn  on  Uje  Very  day  that  Galileo  died,, 


EPITAPHS.  349 

Or  add  one  patriot  to  a  sinking  state; 
This  weeping  marble  had  not  asked  thy  tear, 
Or  sadly  told,  how  many  hopes  lie  here ! 
The  living  virtue  now  had  shone  approved, 
The  senate  heard  him,  and  his  country  loved. 
Yet  softer  honours,  and  less  noisy  fame 
Attend  the  shade  of  gentle  Buckingham : 
In  whom  a  race,  for  courage  famed  and  art, 
Ends  in  the  milder  merit  of  the  heart; 
And  chiefs  or  sages   long  to  Britain  giv'n, 
Pays  the  last  tribute  of  a  saint  to  heav'n. 


XV.— FOE  ONE  WHO  WOULD  NOT  BE  BURIED 
IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY.1 

HEROES,  and  kings!  your  distance  keep: 
In  peace  let  one  poor  poet  sleep, 
Who  never  flattered  folks  like  you: 
Let  Horace  blush,  and  Virgil  too. 


ANOTHER,  ON  THE  SAME. 

UNDER  this  marble,  or  under  this  sill, 
Or  under  this  turf,  or  e'en  what  they  will; 
Whatever  an  heir,  or  a  friend  in  his  stead, 
Or  any  good  creature  shall  lay  o'er  my  head, 
Lies  one  who  ne'er  cared,  and  still  eares  not  a  pin 
What  they  say,  or  may  say  of  the  mortal  within: 
But,  who  living  and  dying,  serene  still  and  free, 
Trusts  in  God,  that  as  weU  as  he  was,  he  shall  be. 


LORD  CONINGSBY'S  EPITAPH. 

HERE  lies  Lord  Conihgsby — be  civil: 
The  rest  God  knows —  so  does  the  devil. 

1  Now  on  Pope's  monument  in  Twickenham  church. 

2  This  epitaph,  originally  written  on  Picus  Mirandula,  was  printed 
among  the  works  of  Swift.     See  Hawkesworth's  edition,  vol.  iv. 

Pope,  in  one  of  the  prints  from  Scheemaker's  monument  of  Shake 


850  EPITAPHS. 

ON  BUTLEB'S  MONUMENT. 

PERHAPS    BY    POPE. 

Respect  to  Dryden,  Sheffield  justly  paid, 
And  noble  Villiers  honour'd  Cowley's  shade: 
But  whence  this  Barber  ? — that  a  name  so  mean 
Should,  join'd  with  Butler's,  on  a  tomb  be  seen: 
This  pyramid  would  better  far  proclaim, 
To  future  ages  humbler  Settle's  name: 
Poet  and  patron  then  had  been  well  pair'd, 
The  city  printer,  and  the  city  bard. 

speare  in  Westminster  Abbey,  has  shewn  his  contempt  of  Alderman 
Barber,  by  the  following  couplet,  which  is  substituted  in  the  place  of 
•  the  cloud  capt  towers,  &c.' 

« Thus  Britain  loved  me :  and  preserved  my  fame, 
Clear  from  a  Barber's  or  a  Benson's  name.' 

Pope  might  probably  have  suppressed  his  satire  on  the  alderman, 
because  he  was  one  of  Swift's  acquaintances  and  correspondents : 
though  in  the  fourth  book  of  the  Dunciad  he  has  an  anonymous 
stroke  at  him : 

'  So  by  each  bard  an  alderman  shall  sit, 
4  A  heavy  lord  shall  hang  at,  every  wit,' 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


ODE  ON  ST.   CECILIA'S  DAY. 

1703. 


DESCEND,  ye  Nine  !  descend  and  sing: 
The  breathing  instruments  inspire; 
Wake  into  voice  each  silent  string, 
And  sweep  the  sounding  lyre ! 
In  a  sadly-pleasing  strain 
Let  the  warbling  lute  complain: 
Let  the  loud  trumpet  sound, 
Till  the  roofs  all  around 
The  shrill  echoes  rebound: 
While  in  more  lengthened  notes  and  slow, 
The  deep,  majestic,  solemn  organs  blow. 
Hark !  the  numbers  soft  and  clear, 
Gently  steal  upon  the  ear; 
Now  louder,  and  yet  louder  rise 
And  fill  with  spreading  sounds  the  skies; 
Exulting  in  triumph  now  swell  the  bold  notes, 
In  broken  air,  trembling,  the  wild  music  floats/ 
Till,  by  degrees,  remote  and  small, 
The  strains  decay, 
And  melt  away, 
In  a  dying,  dying  fall. 

ii. 
By  music,  minds  an  equal  temper  know, 

Nor  swell  too  high,  nor  sink  too  low. 
If  in  the  breast  tumultuous  joys  arise, 
Music  her  soft,  assuasive  voice  applies; 

Or,  when  the  soul  is  pressed  with  cares, 

Exalts  her  in  enlivening  airs. 
Warriors  she  fires  with  animated  sounds; 
Pours  balm  into  the  bleeding  lover's  wounch; 


352  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Melancholy  lifts  her  head, 
Morpheus  rouses  from  his  bed, 
Sloth  unfolds  her  arms  and  wakes, 

Listening  Envy  drops  her  snakes  ; 
Intestine  war  no  more  our  passions  wage, 
And  giddy  factions  hear  away  their  rage.1 

HL 

But  when  our  country's  cause  provokes  to  arms, 
How  martial  music  ev'ry  bosom  warms ! 
So  when  the  first  bold  vessel 2  dared  the  seas, 
High  on  the  stern  the  Thracian  raised  his  strain/ 
While  Argo  saw  her  kindred  trees 
Descend  from  Pelion  to  the  main. 
Transported  demi-gods  stood  round,4 
And  men  grew  heroes  at  the  sound, 
Inflamed  with  glory's  charms: 
Each  chief  his  sev'nf old  shield  displayed, 
And  half  unsheathed  the  shining  blade 
And  seas,  and  rocks,  and  skies  rebound, 
To  arms,  to  arms,  to  arms ! 

1  Dr.  Greene  set  this  ode  to  music  in  1730,  as  an  exercise  for 
his  doctor's  degree  at  Cambridge,  on  which  occasion  Pope  added  the 
following  stanza  at  line  35. 

Amphion  thus  bade  wild  dissension  cease, 

And  softened  mortals  learned  the  arts  of  peace 

Amphion  taught  contending  kings 

From  various  discords  to  create, 

The  music  of  a  well  tuned  state; 

Nor  slack  nor  strain  the  tender  strings, 

Those  useful  touches  to  impart 

That  strike  the  subject's  answering  heart, 

And  the  soft  silent  harmony  that  springs 

From  sacred  union  and  consent  of  things. 

and  he  made  another  alteration  at  the  same  time,  in  stanza  4,  v.  51, 
and  wrote  it  thus : 

Sad  Orpheus  sought  his  consort  lost; 
The  adamantine  gates  were  barred, 
And  nought  was  seen  and  nought  was  heard 

Around  the  dreary  coast ; 
But  dreadful  gleams,  &c.—  Wdrtcn. 

2  The  Argo  in  which  Jason  and  the  Argonauts  sailed  to  Colchis  in 
search  of  the  Golden  Fleece. 

3  Orpheus. 

4  Few  images  in  any  poet,  ancient  or  modern,  are  more  striking 
than  that  in  Apollonius,  where  he  says,  that  when  the  Argo  was  sail- 
ing near  the  coast  where  the  centaur  Chiron  dwelt,  he  came  down  to 
the  very  margin  of  the  sea,   bringing    his  wife   with  the  young 
Achilles  in  her  arms,  that  he  Tnight  show  the  child  to  his  father 
Peleus  who  was  on  his  voyage  with  the  other  Argonauts.    Apolloniua 
Bhodias.  Lib.  I.—  Warton. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  353 

IV. 

But  when  through  all  th'  infernal  bounds, 
"Which  flaming  Phlegethon l  surrounds, 
Love,  strong  as  Death,  the  poet 2  led 
To  the  pale  nations  of  the  dead, 3 
\Vhat  sounds  were  heard, 
What  scenes  appeared, 
O'er  all  the  dreary  coasts ! 
Dreadful  gleams 
Dismal  screams, 
Fires  that  glow, 
Shrieks  of  woe, 
Sullen  moans, 
Hollow  groans, 
And  cries  of  tortured  ghosts ! 
But  hark !  he  strikes  the  golden  lyre; 
And  see !  the  tortured  ghosts  respire, 

See,  shady  forms  advance ! 
Thy  stone,  O  Sisyphus,  stands  still,* 
Ixion  rests  upon  his  wheel,5 

And  the  pale  spectres  dance ! 
The  Furies  sink  upon  their  iron  beds,          [heads. 
'  And  snakes  uncurled  hang  list'ning  round   their 


v. 

By  the  streams  that  ever  flow, 
By  the  fragrant  winds  that  blow 

O'er  thj  Elysian  flowers; 
By  those  happy  souls  who  dwell 
In  yellow  meads  of  Asphodel, 

Or  Amaranthine  bowers; 

1  Phlegethon,  a  river  of  Tartarus. 

2  See  the  "  Divine  Legation,"  Book  2,  where  Orpheus  is  considered 
as  a  philosopher,  a  legislator,  and  a  mystic.—  Warton. 

3  The  fable  is   that  Orpheus,    led    by  "  Love  strong  as  death," 
descended  to  Tartarus  to  beg  that  the  Infernal  God  and  Goddess 
would  permit  his  dead  wife,  Eurydice  (who  had  died  of  snake-bite) 
to  return  to  earth  with  him.    Won  by  his  divine  music  they  assent- 
ed, on  condition  that  he  did  not  turn  round  to  look  at  her  till  they 
reached  the  upper  air.    But  alas !  m  his  tender  impatience,  Orpheus 
cast  a  glance  back,  and  she  was  instantly  borne  away.    Very  ancient 
hymns,  ascribed  to  Orpheus  (but  not  his),  remain,  Warton  tells 
us,  "  certainly  older  than  the  expedition  of  Xerxes  against  Greece.'* 

«  Sisyphus  was  doomed  to  roll  a  huge  stone  up  to  a  hill-top 
of  Tartarus,  but  when  the  summit  was  nearly  gained  it  invariably 
fell  back  headlong  to  the  plain;  thus  his  efforts  were  always  in  vain. 

e  Ixion  was  fastened,  to  a  wheel  which,  incessantly  revolved, 


354  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

By  the  hero's  armed  shades, 
Glittering  through  the  gloomy  glades, 
By  the  youths  who  died  for  love, 

Wand'ring  in  the  myrtle  grove,1 
Restore,  restore  Eurydice  to  life: 
Oh  take  the  husband,  or  return  the  wife  I 

He  sung,  and  hell  consented 
To  hear  the  poet's  pray'r: 
Stern  Proserpine  relented, 
And  gave  him  back  the  fair. 
Thus  song  could  prevail 
O'er  death,  and  o'er  hell, 
A  conquest  how  hard  and  how  glorious  \ 
Though  fate  had  fast  bound  her, 
With  Styx2  nine  times  round  her, 
Yet  music  and  love  were  victorious. 


VI. 

But  soon,  too  soon,  the  lover  turns  his  eyes; 
Again  she  falls,  again  she  dies,  she  dies ! 
How  wilt  thou  now  the  fatal  sisters 3  move  ? 
N®  crime  was  thine,  if  'tis  no  crime  to  love. 
Now  under  hanging  mountains, 
Beside  the  fall  of  fountains, 
Or  where  Hebrus  *  wanders, 
Rolling  in  meanders, 
All  alone, 

Unheard,  unknown, 
He  makes  his  moan; 
And  calls  her  ghost. 
For  ever,  ever,  ever  lost ! 
Now  with  furies  surrounded, 
Despairing,  confounded, 
He  trembles,  he  glows, 
Amidst  Rhodope's  snows; 
See,  wild  as  the  winds,  o'er  the  desert  he  flies; 
Hark!   Hsemus  resounds  with  the  Bacchanals5 
Ah  see,  he  dies !  [cries — 

1  The  myrtle  was  sacred  to  Venus.  2  A  river  of  Hell. 

3  The  Fates  Atropos,  Clotho,  and  Lachesis.  4  A  river  of  Thrace. 

5  The  women  of  Thrace  enraged  at  Orpheus's  neglect  of  them  and 
under  the  influence  of  the  rites  of  Bacchus,  stoned  him  to  death,  and 
threw  his  head  and  legs  into  the  river  Hebrus, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  355 

Yet  even  in  death  Eurydice  lie  sung, 
Eurydice  still  trembled  on  his  tongue, 

Eurydice  the  woods, 

Eurydice  the  floods, 
Eurydice  the  rocks,  and  hollow  mountains  rung. 

vn. 

Music  the  fiercest  grief  can  charm, 

And  fate's  severest  rage  disarm: 

Music  can  soften  pain  to  ease, 

And  make  despair  and  madness  please: 
Our  joys  below  it  can  improve, 
And  antedate  the  bliss  above. 
This  the  divine  Cecilia  found, 
And  to  her  Maker's  praise  confined  the  sound. 
"When  the  full  organ  joins  the  tuneful  choir, 

Th'  immortal  pow'rs  incline  their  ear, 
Borne  on  the  swelling  notes  our  souls  aspire, 
While  solemn  airs  improve  the  sacred  fire; 

And  angels  lean  from  heaven  to  hear. 
Of  Orpheus  now  no  more  let  poets  tell, 
To  bright  Cecilia  greater  pow'r  is  giv'n; 

His  numbers  raised  a  shade  from  hell, 
Hers  lift  the  soul  to  heav'n. 


TWO  CHORUSES  TO  THE  TRAGEDY  OF 
BRUTUS.1 

CHORUS  OF  ATHENIANS. 

STROPHE  I. 

YE  shades,  where  sacred  truth  is  sought; 

Groves,  where  immortal  sages  taught; 

Where  heav'nly  visions  Plato  fired, 

And  Epicurus  lay  inspired ! 

In  vain  your  guiltless  laurels  stood 

Unspotted  long  with  human  blood. 
War,  horrid  war,  your  thoughful  walks  invades, 
And  steel  now  glitters  in  the  muses,  shades. 

*  Altered  from  Shakespeare  by  the  Puke  of  Buckingham,  at  whose 


35G  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

ANTISTROPHE   I. 

Oh,  heav'n-born  sisters ! l  source  of  art ! 

Who  charm  the  sense,  or  mend  the  heart; 

"Who  lead  fair  Virtue's  train  along, 

Moral  truth,  and  mystic  song ! 

To  what  new  clime,  what  distant  sky, 

Forsaken,  friendless,  shall  ye  fly  ? 
Say,  will  you  bless  the  bleak  Atlantic  shore? 
Or  bid  the  furious  Gaul  be  rude  no  more  ? 

STROPHE  n. 

When  Athens  sinks  by  fates  unjust, 
When  wild  barbarians  spurnjier  dust; 
Perhaps  even  Britain's  utmost  shore 
Shall  cease  to  blush  with  strangers'  gore, 
See  arts  her  savage  sons  control, 
And  Athens  rising  near  the  pole ! 
Till  some  new  tyrant  lifts  his  purple  hand, 
And  civil  madness  tears  them  from  the  land. 

ANTISTROPHE   II. 

Ye  gods !  what  justice  rules  the  ball  ? 

Freedom  and  arts  together  fall; 

Fools  giant  whate'er  ambition  craves, 

And  men,  once  ignorant,  are  slaves. 

Oh,  cursed  effects  of  civil  hate, 

In  every  age,  in  every  state ! 
Still,  when  the  lust  of  tyrant  pow'r  succeeds, 
Some  Athens  perishes,  some  Tully  bleeds. 


CHOKUS  OF  YOUTHS  AND  VIBGINS. 

SEMICHORUS. 

OH,  tyrant  Love !  hast  thou  possest 
The  prudent,  learned,  and  virtuous  breast? 
Wisdom  and  wit  in  vain  reclaim, 
And  arts  but  soften  us  to  feel  thy  flame. 

desire  these  two  choruses  were  composed  to  supply  as  many  want- 
ing in  his  play.    They  were  set  many  years  afterwards  by  the  famous 
Bonoucini,  and  performed  at  Buckingham  House.— 
i  The  muses, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  357 

Love,  soft  intruder,  enters  here, 
And  ent'ring  learns  to  be  sincere. 
Marcus  with  blushes  owns  he  loves, 
And  Brutus  tenderly  reproves.1 

Why,  Virtue,  dost  thou  blame  desire, 

Which  Nature  has  imprest  ? 
Why,  Nature,  dost  thou  soonest  fire 
The  mild  and  generous  breast? 

CHORUS. 

Love's  purer  flames  the  gods  approve; 
The  gods  and  Brutus  bend  to  love: 
Brutus  for  absent  Portia  sighs, 
And  sterner  Cassius  melts  at  Junia's  eyes. 
What  is  loose  love  ?  a  transient  gust, 
Spent  in  a  sudden  storm  of  lust, 
A  vapour  fed  from  wild  desire, 
A  wand'ring,  self-consuming  fire, 
But  Hymen's  kinder  flames  unite; 

And  burn  for  ever  one; 
Chaste  as  cold  Cynthia's  virgin  light, 
Productive  as  the  sun. 

SEMICHOKUS. 

Oh,  source  of  ev'ry  social  tie, 
United  wish,  and  mutual  joy! 
What  various  joys  on  one  attend, 
As  son,  as  father,  brother,  husband,  friend  I 
Whether  his  hoary  sire  he  spies, 
While  thousand  grateful  thoughts  arise; 
Or  meets  his  spouse's  fonder  eye; 
Or  views  his  smiling  progeny: 

What  tender  passions  take  their  turns, 

What  home-felt  raptures  move ! 
His  heart  now  melts,  now  leaps,  now  burns, 
With  rev'rence,  hope,  and  love. 

CHORUS. 

Hence  guilty  joys,  distastes,  surmises, 
Hence  false  tears,  deceits,  disguises, 
Dangers,  doubts,  delays,  surprises; 

1  Because  Marcus  loved  the  wife  of  Cassius,  according  to  Bucking- 
barn's  play. 


358  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Fires  that  scorch,  yet  dare  not  shine: 
Purest  love's  unwasting  treasure, 
Constant  faith,  fair  hope,  long  leisure, 
Days  of  ease,  and  nights  of  pleasure; 

Sacred  Hymen !  these  are  thine. 


ODE  ON  SOLITUDE.1 

HAPPY  the  man  whose  wish  and  care 

A  few  paternal  acres  bound, 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air, 

In  his  own  ground. 

Whose  herds  with  milk,  whose  fields  with  bread, 

Whose  flocks  supply  him  with  attire, 
Whose  trees  in  summer  yield  him  shade, 
In  winter  fire. 

Blest,  who  can  unconcernedly  find 

Hours,  days,  and  years  slide  soft  away, 
In  health  of  body,  peace  of  mind, 
Quiet  by  day, 

Sound  sleep  by  night ;  study  and  ease, 
Together  mixed  ;  sweet  recreation  ; 
And  innocence,  which  most  does  please 
With  meditation. 

Thus  let  me  live,  unseen,  unknown, 

Thus  unlamented  let  me  die, 
Steal  from  the  world,  and  not  a  stone 
Tell  where  I  lie. 

J^Fhis  was  a  very  early  production  of  our  author,  written  at  about 
twelve  years  old. — .Pope, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  359 

THE  DYING  CHKISTIAN  TO  HIS  SOUL. 

ODE.1 


VITAL  spark  of  lieav'nly  flame  ? 
Quit,  oh  quit  this  mortal  frame : 
Trembling,  hoping,  ling'ring,  flying, 
Oh,  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying ! 

Cease,  fond  nature,  cease  thy  strife, 

And  let  me  languish  into  life. 

H. 

Hark !  they  whisper  ;  angels  say, 
"  Sister  spirit,  come  away ! " 
"What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite  ? 
Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 

Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath? 

Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death? 

in. 

The  world  recedes ;  it  disappears ! 
Heav'n  opens  on  my  eyes !  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring: 
Lend,  lend  your  wings !  I  mount  ?  I  fly ! 
O  grave !  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

O  death !  where  is  thy  sting  ? 2 


TO  THE  AUTHOR  OF  A  POEM  ENTITLED 
SUCCESSIO. 

BEGONE,  ye  critics,  and  restrain  your  spite, 
Codrus  writes  on,  and  will  for  ever  write, 
The  heaviest  muse  the  swiftest  course  has  gone, 
As  clocks  run  fastest  when  most  lead  is  on; 

1  This  ode  was  written  in  imitation  of  the  famous  sonnet  of  Had- 
rian to  his  departing  soul. —  Warburton. 

2  This  ode  was  written  by  the  desire  of  Steele,  and  Pope  says  in  a 
letter  to  him,  "  You  have  it  as  Cowley  calls  it,  just  warm  from  the 
brain.     It  came  to  me  the  first  moment  I  waked  this  morning  :   yet 
you  will  see  it  was  not  so  absolutely  inspiration  but  that  I  had  in  my 
head  not  only  the  verses  of   Hadrian  but  the  lino  fragment   of 
Sappho." 


360  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

What  though  no  bees  around  your  cradle  flew, J 

Nor  on  your  lips  distilled  their  golden  dew; 

Yet  have  we  oft  discovered  in  their  stead 

A  swarm  of  drones  that  buzzed  about  your  head. 

When  you,  like  Orpheus,  strike  the  warbling  lyre, 

Attentive  blocks  stand  round  you  and  admire? 

Wit  passed  through  thee  no  longer  is  the  same, 

As  meat  digested  takes  a  different  name; 

But  sense  must  sure  thy  safest  plunder  be, 

Since  no  reprisals  can  be  made  on  thee. 

Thus  thou  mayst  rise,  and  in  thy  daring  flight 

(Though  ne'er  so  weighty)  reach  a  wondrous  height. 

So,  forced  from  engines,  lead  itself  can  fly, 

And,  ponderous  slugs  move  nimbly  through  the  sky. 

Sure  Bavius 2  copied  Msevius 3  to  the  full, 

And  Chserilus4  taught  Codrus5  to  be  dull; 

Therefore,  dear  friend,  at  my  advice  give  o'er 

This  needless  labour;  and  contend  no  more 

To  prove  a  dull  succession  to  be  true, 

Since  'tis  enough  we  find  it  so  in  you. 


[From  the  Letters.} 

AKGUS. 

WHEN  wise  Ulysses,  from  his  native  coasts 
Long  kept  by  wars,  and  long  by  tempests  tossed, 
Arrived  at  last,  poor,  old,  disguised,  alone, 
To  all  his  friends  and  even  his  Queen  unknown; 
Changed  as  he  was,  with  age,  and  toils,  and  cares, 
Furrowed  his  rev'rend  face,  and  white  his  hairs, 
In  his  own  palace  forced  to  ask  his  bread, 
Scorned  by  those  slaves  his  former  bounty  fed, 
Forgot  of  all  his  own  domestic  crew; 
The  faithful  dog  alone  his  rightful  master  knew ! 
Unfed,  unhoused,  neglected,  on  the  clay, 
Like  an  old  servant,  now  cashiered,  he  lay; 

1  An  allusion  to  the  tradition  about  Plato. 

2  and  3  Two  stupid  and  malevolent  poets  in  the  age  of  Augustus,  who 
attacked  the  fame  of  superior  writers. 

*  Supposed  to  mean  Shad  well.  6  Probably  Gibber, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  861 

Touched  with  resentment  of  ungrateful  man, 
Aud  longing  to  behold  his  ancient  lord  again. 
Him  when  he  saw — he  rose,  and  crawled  to  meet, 
('Twas  all  he  could)  and  fawned,  and  kissed  his  feet, 
Seized  with  dumb  joy — then  falling  by  his  side, 
Owned  his  returning  lord,  looked  up,  and  died ! 


TO  HENRY  CEOMWELL,  ESQ. 

1708. 

THIS  letter  greets  you  from  the  shades; 

(Not  those  which  their  unbodied  shadows  fill 
That  glide  along  th'  Elysian  glades, 

Or  skim  the  flow'ry  meads  of  Asphodel;) 

But  those  in  which  a  learned  author  said 
Strong  drink  was  drunk  and  gambols  played 

And  two  substantial  meals  a-day  were  made. 
The  business  of  it  is  t'  express, 
From  me  and  from  my  holiness, 
To  you  and  to  your  gentleness, 

How  much  I  wish  you  health  and  happiness; 

And  much  good  news,  and  little  spleen  as  may  be, 
A  hearty  stomach  and  fair  lady, 
And  ev'ry  day  a  double  dose  of  coffee, 
To  make  you  look  as  sage  as  any  Sophi. 


A  FAREWELL  TO   LONDON. 

IN   THE   YEAH    1715. 

DEAR,  droll,  distracting  town,  f arewell ! 

Thy  fools  no  more  I'll  tease : 
This  year  in  peace,  ye  critics,  dwell, 

Ye  harlots,  sleep  at  ease ! 

To  drink  and  droll  be  Rowe  allow'd 
TiU.  the  third  watchman's  toll; 

Let  Jervas  gratis  paint,  and  Frowde 
Save  threepence  and  his  soul. 


362  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Farewell,  Arbuthnot's  raillery 

On  every  learned  sot; 
And  Garth,  the  best  good  Christian  he, 

Although  he  knows  it  not. 

Lintot,  farewell!  thy  bard  must  go; 

Farewell,  unhappy  Tonson ! 
Heaven  gives  thee,  for  thy  loss  of  Howe, 

Lean  Philips  and  fat  Johnson.1 

"Why  should  I  stay  ?    Both  parties  rage;2 

My  vixen  mistress3  squalls; 
The  wits  in  envious  feuds  engage : 

And  Homer — d him — calls. 

The  love  of  arts  lies  cold  and  dead 

In  Halifax's  urn; 
And  not  one  muse  of  all  he  fed 

Has  yet  the  grace  to  mourn. 

My  friends,  by  turns,  my  friends  confound, 

Betray,  and  are  betrayed: 
Poor  Y r's  sold  for  fifty  pounds, 

And  B 11  is  a  jade. 

Why  make  I  friendships  with  the  great, 
When  I  no  favour  seek. 


Still  idle,  with  a  busy  air, 

Deep  whimsies  to  contrive; 
The  gayest  valetudinaire, 

Most  thinking  rake  alive. 

Solicitous  for  other  ends, 

Though  fond  of  dear  repose; 
Careless  or  drowsy  with  my  friends,4 

And  frolic  with  my  foes. 

1  Johnson  was  probably  the  friend  of  Wilkes :  he  wrote  sixteen  very 
inferior  plays. 

2  Whigs  aiad  Jacobites.  *  Teresa  Blount,  Bowles  thinks. 

4  Pope  is  said  to  have  fallen  asleep  at  his  own  table  when  the 
Prince  of  Wales  was  in  company.— Bowles. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  363 

Luxurious  lobster-nights  farewell, 

For  sober,  studious  days ! 
And  Burlington's  delicious  meal, 

For  salads,  tarts,  and  pease! 

Adieu  to  all  but  Gay  alone, 

Whose  soul,  sincere  and  free, 
Loves  all  mankind,  but  flatters  none, 

And  so  may  starve  with  me. 


THE  BASSET-TABLE. 

A   TOWN   ECLOGUE.* 

CARDELIA.     SMILINDA. 

CABDELIA. 


THE  basset-table  spread,  the  tallier2  come; 
Why  stays  Smilinda  in  the  dressing-room  ? 
Rise,  pensive  nymph,  the  tallier  waits  for  you: 


SMILINDA. 


Ah,  madam,  since  my  Sharper  is  untrue, 
I  joyless  make  my  once  adored  Alpeu. 
I  saw  him  stand  behind  Ombrelia's  chair, 
And  whisper  with  that  soft,  deluding  air, 
And  those  feigned  sighs  which  cheat  the  list'ning  fair. 


CARDELIA. 

Is  this  the  cause  of  your  romantic  strains? 
A  mightier  grief  my  heavy  heart  sustains. 
As  you  by  love,  so  I  by  fortune  crossed; 
One,  one  bad  deal,  three  Septlevas  have  lost. 

i  There  were  six  town  eclogues,  one  written,  it  is  believed,  by  Pope, 
five  by  Lady  MaryjW.  Montagu. —  Wdrton.  Only  this  of  all  the  town 
eclogues  was  Mr.  Pope's;  and  is  here  printed  from  a  copy  corrected 
by  his  own  hand. — The  humour  of  it  consists  in  this,  tht'it  the  one  ia 
in  love  with  the  game,  and  the  other  with  th©  sharper.—  Warburtvn* 

a  One  who  keeps  tally. 


364  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

SMUJNDA. 

Is  that  the  grief,  which  you  compare  with  mine  ? 
With  ease,  the  smiles  of  fortune  I  resign: 
Would  all  my  gold  in  one  bad  deal  were  gone; 
Were  lovely  Sharper  mine,  and  mine  alone. 

CABDELIA. 

A  lover  lost,  is  but  a  common  care; 
And  prudent  nymphs  against  that  change  prepare; 
The  Knave   of  Clubs   thrice   lost:    Oh  who   could 

guess 
This  fatal  stroke,  this  unforeseen  distress  ? 

SMILINDA. 

See  Betty  Lovet !  very  a  propos, 
She  all  the  cares  of  love  and  play  does  know; 
Dear  Betty  shall  th'  important  point  decide; 
Betty,  who  oft  the  pain  of  eachrhas  tried; 
Impartial,  she  shall  say  who  suffers  most, 
By  cards'  ill  usage,  or  by  lovers  lost. 

LOVET. 

Tell,  tell  your  griefs;  attentive  will  I  stay, 
Though  time  is  precious,  and  I  want  some  tea. 

CABDELIA. 

Behold  this  equipage,  by  Mathers  wrought, 
With  fifty  guineas  (a  great  pen' worth)  bought. 
See,  on  the  tooth-pick,  Mars  and  Cupid  strive; 
And  both  the  struggling  figures  seem  alive. 
Upon  the  bottom  shines  the  queen's  bright  face; 
A  myrtle  foliage  round  the  thimble-case. 
Jove,  Jove  himself,  does  on  the  scissors  shine; 
The  metal,  and  the  workmanship,  divine ! 

SMILINDA. 

This  snuff-box, — once   the   pledge   of    Sharper's 

love, 

When  rival  beauties  for  the  present  strove; 
At  Corticelli's  he  the  raffle  won; 
Then  first  his  passion  was  in  public  shown: 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  365 

Hazardia  blushed,  and  turned  her  head  aside, 
A  rival's  envy  (all  in  vain)  to  hide. 
The  snuff-box, — on  the  hinge  see  brilliants  shine  ; 
This  snuff-box  will  I  stake;  the  prize  is  mine. 

CAKDELIA. 

Alas !  far  lesser  losses  than  I  bear, 
Have  made  a  soldier  sigh,  a  lover  swear. 
And  oh !  what  makes  the  disappointment  hard, 
'Twas  my  own  lord  that  drew  the  fatal  card. 
In  complaisance,  I  took  the  queen  he  gave; 
Though  my  own  secret  wish  was  for  the  knave. 
The  knave  won  Sonica,  which  I  had  chose; 
And,  the  next  pull,  my  Septleva  I  lose. 

SMILINDA. 

But  ah !  what  aggravates  the  killing  smart, 
The  cruel  thought,  that  stabs  me  to  the  heart; 
This  cursed  Ombrelia,  this  undoing  fair, 
By  whose  vile  arts  this  heavy  grief  I  bear; 
She,  at  whose  name  I  shed  these  spiteful  tears, 
She  owes  to  me  the  very  charms  she  wears. 
An  awkward  thing,  when  first  she  came  to  town; 
Her  shape  unfashioned,  and  her  face  unknown: 
She  was  my  friend;  I  taught  her  first  to  spread 
Upon  her  sallow  cheeks  enliv'ning  red: 
I  introduced  her  to  the  park  and  plays; 
And,  by  my  interest,  Cozens  made  her  stays. 
Ungrateful  wretch,  with  mimic  airs  grown  pert, 
She  dares  to  steal  my  fav'rite  lover's  heart. 

CAKDELIA. 

Wretch  that  I  was,  how  often  have  I  swore, 
When  Winnall  tallied,  I  would  punt  no  more  ? 
I  knew  the  bite,  yet  to  my  ruin   run; 
And  see  the  folly,  which  I  cannot  shun. 

SMILINDA. 

How  many  maids  have  Sharper's  vows  deceived? 
How  many  cursed  the  moment  they  believed  ? 
Yet  his  known  falsehoods  could  no  warning  prove: 
Ah !  what  is  warning  to  a  maid  in  love  ? 


366  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


CARDELIA. 

But  of  what  marble  must  that  breast  be  formed, 
To  gaze  on  basset,  and  remain  unwarmed? 
When  kings,  queens,  knaves,  are  set  in  decent  rani 
Exposed  in  glorious  heaps  the  tempting  bank, 
Guineas,  half -guineas,  all  the  shining  train; 
The  winner's  pleasure,  and  the  loser's  pain: 
In  bright  confusion  open  rouleaux  lie, 
They  strike  the  soul,  and  glitter  in  the  eye. 
Fired  by  the  sight,  all  reason  I  disdain; 
My  passions  rise,  and  will  not  bear  the  rein. 
Look  upon  basset,  you  who  reason  boast; 
And  see  if  reason  must  not  there  be  lost. 

SMILINDA. 

What  more  than  marble  must  that  heart  compose, 
Can  hearken  coldly  to  my  Sharper's  vows? 
Then,  when  he  trembles !  when  his  blushes  rise ! 
When  awful  love  seems  melting  in  his  eyes ! 
With  eager  beats  his  Mechlin  cravat  moves: 
"  He  loves," — I  whisper  to  myself,  "He  loves ! " 
Such  unfeigned  passion  in  his  looks  appears, 
I  lose  all  mem'ry  of  my  former  fears; 
My  panting  heart  confesses  all  his  charms, 
I  yield  at  once,  and  sink  into  his  arms: 
Think  of  that  moment,  you  who  prudence  boast: 
For  such  a  moment,  prudence  well  were  lost. 

CARDELIA. 

At  the  Groom-porter's,1  battered  bullies  play, 
Some  dukes  at  Mary-bone  bowl  time  away. 
But  who  the  bowl  or  rattling  dice  compares 
To  basset's  heavenly  joys,  and  pleasing  cares? 

SMILINDA. 

Soft  Sirnplicetta  doats  upon  a  beau: 
Prudina  like  a  man,  and  laughs  at  show. 
Their  several  graces  in  my  Sharper  meet;' 
Strong  as  the  footmen,  as  the  master  sweet. 

i  At  the  palace. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  3G7 


LOVET. 

Cease  your  contention,  which  has  been  too  long; 
I  grow  impatient,  and  the  tea's  too  strong. 
Attend,  and  yield  to  what  I  now  decide; 
The  equipage  shall  grace  Smilinda's  side: 
The  snuff-box  to  Cardelia  I  decree, 
Now  leave  complaining,  and  begin  your  tea. 


TO  LADY  MAHY  WOBTLEY  MONTAGU.1 


In  beauty,  or  wit, 

No  mortal  as  yet 
To  question  your  empire  has  dared: 

But  men  of  discerning 

Have  thought  that  in  learning, 
To  yield  to  a  lady  was  hard. 

n. 

Impertinent  schools, 

With  musty  dull  rules, 
Have  reading  to  females  denied; 

So  Papists  refuse 

The  Bible  to  use, 
Lest  flocks  should  be  wise  as  their  guide. 

in. 

'Twas  a  woman  at  first 

(Indeed  she  was  curst) 
In  knowledge  that  tasted  delight, 

And  sages  agree 

The  laws  should  decree 
To  the  first  possessor  the  right. 

i  Daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Kingston,  born  1690 :  a  woman  of  great 
genius,  but  very  eccentric.  Her  letters  equal  Madame  de  Sevigne's; 
she  lived  to  a  great  age,  chiefly  abroad.  She  had  married  Mr. 
Montagu,  and  accompanied  him  on  his  Embassy  to  Constantinople; 
after  his  recall  she  lived  at  Twickenham.  Lady  Mary  introduced 
iimoculation  into  England.  Her  daughter  married  Lord  Bute,  the 
favourite  minister  of  George  III. 


368  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

IV. 

Then  bravely,  fair  dame, 
Resume  the  old  claim, 

Which  to  your  whole  sex  does  belong; 
And  let  men  receive, 
From  a  second  bright  Eve, 

The  knowledge  of  right  and  of  wrong. 


But  if  the  first  Eve 

Hard  doom  did  receive, 
"When  only  one  apple  had  she, 

What  a  punishment  new 

Shall  be  found  out  for  you, 
Who  tasting,  have  robbed  the  whole  tree  ? 


EXTEMPORANEOUS    LINES,    ON    THE    PIC- 
TURE OF  LADY  MARY  W.   MONTAGU. 

BY    KNELLER.      FROM    DALLAWAY'S    LIFE    OF     LADY    M.    W.    M. 

THE  playful  smiles  around  the  dimpled  mouth, 

That  happy  air  of  majesty  and  truth; 

So  would  I  draw  (but  oh !  'tis  vain  to  try, 

My  narrow  genius  does  the  power  deny;) 

The  equal  lustre  of  the  heavanly  mind 

Where  ev'ry  grace  with  ev'ry  virtue's  joined; 

Learning  not  vain,  and  wisdom  not  severe, 

With  greatness  easy,  and  with  wit  sincere; 

With  just  description  show  the  work  divine, 

And  the  whole  princess  in  my  work  should  shine. 


EPIGRAM. 

FBOM  A  LETTER  TO  A  LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

Hie  jacet  immiti  consumptus  morte  Tibullus, 
Mesalam,  terra  dum  sequiturque  mari. 

Here  stopt  by  hasty  death  Alexis  lies, 

Who  crost  half  Europe,  led  by  Wortley's  eyes. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  369 


ON  A  CEBTAINLADY  AT  COUBT.1 

I  KNOW  the  thing  that's  most  uncommon 

(Envy  be  silent,  and  attend !) 
I  know  a  reasonable  woman, 

Handsome  and  witty,  yet  a  friend. 

Not  warped  by  passion,  awed  by  rumour, 

Not  grave  through  pride,  or  gay  through  folly; 

An  equal  mixture  of  good-humour, 
And  sensible  soft  melancholy. 

"Has  she  no  faults  then,  (Envy  says,)  sir  ?  " 

Yes,  she  has  one,  I  must  aver; 
"When  all  the  world  conspires  to  praise  her, 

The  woman's  deaf,  and  does  not  hear. 


TO  MB.  GAY,2 

WHO    CONGRATULATED    HIM   ON    FINISHING    HIS    HOUSE   AND 
GAEDENS. 

AH,  friend!  'tis  true — this  truth  you  lovers  know — 
In  vain,my  structures  rise,  my  gardens  grow, 
In  vain  fair  Thames  reflects  the  double  scenes 
Of  hanging  mountains  and  of  sloping  greens: 
Joy  lives  not  here,  to  happier  seats  it  flies, 
And  only  dwells  where  WORTLEY  casts  her  eyes. 

What  are  the  gay  parterre,  the  checkered  shade, 
The  morning  bower,  the  evening  colonnade, 
But  soft  recesses  of  uneasy  minds, 
To  sigh  unheard  in,  to  the  passing  winds  ? 
So  the  struck  deer  in  some  sequestered  part 
Lies  down  to  die,  the  arrow  at  his  heart; 
He,  stretch'd  unseen  in  coverts  hid  from  day, 
Bleeds  drop  by  drop,  and  pants  his  life  away. 

1  Mrs.  Howard,  bedchamber  woman  to  Queen  Caroline.    George 
II.  created  her  Countess  of  Suffolk. 

2  John  Gay,  born  1688,  died  1732.    His  "  Beggar's  Opera  "  was  the 
first  ballad  opera  ever  produced.    He  was  the  friend  of  all  the  poets 
and  wits  of  the  time,  and  was  a  most  amiable  man.    His  "  Fables  " 
are  well  known. 


370  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


PKOLOGTJE   DESIGNED  FOE  MR  D'UEFEY'S 
LAST  PLAY.1 

FIBST    PUBLISHED    IN   POPE   AND   SWIFT'S   MISCELLANIES. 

GROWN  old  in  rhyme  'twere  barbarous  to  discard 
Your  persevering,  unexhausted  bard: 
Damnation  follows  death  in  other  men; 
But  your  damned  poet  lives,  and  writes  again. 
Th'  adventurous  lover  is  successful  still, 
Who  strives  to  please  the  fair  against  her  will. 
Be  kind,  and  make  him  in  his  wishes  easy, 
Who  in  your  own  despite  has  strove  to  please  ye. 
He  scorned  to  borrow  from  the  wits  of  yore; 
But  ever  writ  as  none  e'er  writ  before. 
You  modern  wits,  should  each  man  bring  his  claim, 
Have  desperate  debentures  on  your  fame; 
And  little  would  be  left  you,  I'm  afraid, 
If  all  your  debts  to  Greece  and  Eome  were  paid. 
From  his  deep  fund  our  author  largely  draws; 
Nor  sinks  his  credit  lower  than  it  was. 
Though  plays  for  honour  in  old  time  he  made, 
'Tis  now  for  better  reasons — to  be  paid. 
Believe  him,  he  has  known  the  world  too  long, . 
And  seen  the  death  of  much  immortal  song. 
He  says,  poor  poets  lost,  while  players  won, 
As  pimps  grow  rich,  while  gallants  are  undone. 
Though  Tom  the  poet  writ  with  ease  and  pleasure, 
The  comic  Tom  abounds  in  other  treasure. 
Fame  is  at  best  an  unperforming  cheat; 
But  'tis  substantial  happiness  to  eat. 
Let  ease,  his  last  request,  be  of  your  giving, 
Nor  force  him  to  be  damned  to  get  his  living. 

i  Thomas  D'Urfey,  a  coraic  poet  of  the  time  of  Charles  II.,  who 
used  to  lean  on  his  shoulder,  and  hum  the  tunes  of  his  songs.  He 
was  born  1628,  and  died  in  London  in  1723, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  371 


A  PEOLOGUE  BY  ME.  POPE, 

TO   A   PLAY   FOR   MB.    DENNIS'S    BENEFIT    IN    1733,    WHEN    HE   WAS 

OLD,    BLIND,    AND    IN    GKEAT    DISTRESS,    A    LITTLE 

BEFORE    HIS   DEATH. 

As  when  that  nero,1  who  in  each  campaign, 
Had  braved  the  Goth,  and  many  a  Vandal  slain. 
Lay  fortune-struck,  a  spectacle  of  woe  1 
Wept  by  each  friend,  forgiv'n  by  ev'ry  foe: 
Was  there  a  gen'rous,  a  reflecting  mind, 
But  pitied  Belisarius  old  and  blind  ? 
Was  there  a  chief  but  melted  at  the  sight? 
A  common  soldier,  but  who  clubbed  his  mite  ? 
Such,  such  emotions  should  in  Britons  rise, 
When  pressed  by  want  and  weakness  Dennis  lies; 
Dennis,  who  long  had  warred  with  modern  Huns, 
Their  quibbles  routed,  and  defied  their  puns; 
A  desp'rate  bulwark,  sturdy,  firm,  and  fierce 
Against  the  Gothic  sons  of  frozen  verse:        » 
How  changed  from  him  who  made  the  boxes  groan, 
And  shook  the  stage  with  thunders  all  his  own ! 
Stood  up  to  dash  each  vain  pretender's  hope, 
Maul  the  French  tyrant,  or  pull  down  the  Pope ! 
If  there's  a  Briton  then,  true  bred  and  born, 
Who  holds  dragoons  and  wooden  shoes  in  scorn: 
If  there's  a  critic  of  distinguished  rage; 
If  there's  a  senior,  who  contemns  this  age; 
Let  him  to-night  his  just  assistance  lend, 
And  be  the  critic's,  Briton's,  old  man's  friend. 


MACEE:2  A  CHARACTER 

WHEN  simple  Macer,  now  of  high  renown, 
First  sought  a  poet's  fortune  in  the  town, 
'Twas  all  th'  ambition  his  high  soul  could  feel, 
To  wear  red  stockings,  and  to  dine  with  Steele. 

1  Belisarius,  the  general  of  Justinian.  In  533  he  took  Carthage, 
and  made  the  king  of  the  Vandals  prisoner.  Being  accused  afterward* 
of  joining  in  a  conspiracy  against  the  Emperor,  his  estates  were  con 
fiscated,  and  he  was  reduced  to  beggary.  The  tradition  that  his  eyes 
Were  put  out  was  not  correct. 

*  Supposed  to  be  James  Moore  Smyth,  author  of  the  "  Kival  Modes," 


372  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Some  ends  of  verse  his  betters  might  afford, 
And  gave  the  harmless  fellow  a  good  word. 
Set  up  with  these  he  ventured  on  the  town, 
And  with  a  borrowed  play  out-did  poor  Crown. 
There  he  stopped  short,  nor  since  has  writ  a  tittle, 
But  has  ihe  wit  to  make  the  most  of  little; 
Like  stunted  hide-bound  trees,  that  just  have  got 
Sufficient  sap  at  once  to  bear  and  rot. 
Now  he  begs  verse,  and  what  he  gets  commends, 
Not  of  the  wits  his  foes,  but  fools  his  friends. 

So  some  coarse  country  wrench,  almost  decayed, 
Trudges  to  town,  and  first  turns  chambermaid; 
Awkward  and  supple,  each  devoir  to  pay; 
She  flatters  her  good  lady  twice  a  day; 
Thought  wondrous  honest,  though  of  mean  degree, 
And  strangely  liked  for  her  simplicity: 
In  a  translated  suit,  then  tries  the  town, 
With  borrowed  pins,  and  patches  not  her  own: 
But  just  endured  the  winter  she  began, 
And  in  four  months  a  battered  Harridan. 
Now  nothing  left,  but  withered,  pale,  and  shrunk, 
To  bawd  for  others,  and  go  shares  with  Punk. 


TO  MB.  JOHN  MOOEE, 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  CELEBRATED  WORM  POWDER. 

How  much,  egregious  Moore,  are  we 
Deceived  by  shows  and  forms ! 

Whate'er  we  think,  whate'er  we  see, 
All  humankind  are  worms. 

Man  is  a  very  worm  by  birth, 

Vile,  reptile,  weak,  and  vain! 
A  while  he  crawls  upon  the  earth, 

Then  shrinks  to  earth  again. 

That  woman  is  a  worm,  we  find 
E'er  since  our  granclanr  s  evil ; 

She  first  conversed  with  her  own  kind, 
That  ancient  worm,  the  devil. 

see  Dunciad.  But  Bowles  thinks  it  might  have  been  meant  for  Phil- 
ips, who  was  devoted  to  Steele,  and  whose  "Distressed  Mother  "  waa 
taken  from  the  French,  of  Racing, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  373 

The  learned  themselves  we  book- worms  name, 
The  blockhead  is  a  slow-worm  ; 

The  nymph  whose  tail  is  all  on  flame, 
Is  aptly  termed  a  glow-worm  : 

The  fops  are  painted  butterflies, 

That  flutter  for  a  day  ; 
First  from  a  worm  they  take  their  rise, 

And  in  a  worm  decay. 

The  flatterer  an  ear- wig  grows  ; 

Thus  worms  suit  all  conditions: 
Misers  are  muck- worms,  silk-worms  beaux, 

And  death-watches  physicians. 

That  statesmen  have  the  worm,  is  seen, 

By  all  their  winding  play ; 
Their  conscience  is  a  worm  within, 

That  gnaws  them  night  and  day. 

Ah,  Moore !  thy  skill  were  well  employed, 

And  greater  gain  would  rise, 
If  thou  couldst  make  the  courtier  void 

The  worm  that  never  dies ! 

O  learned  friend  of  Abchurch  Lane, 

Who  settest  our  entrails  free, 
Yain  is  thy  art,  thy  powder  vain, 

Since  worms  shall  eat  ev'n  thee. 

Our  fate  thou  only  canst  adjourn 
Some  few  short  years,  no  more ! 

Even  Button's l  wits  to  worms  shall  turn, 
Who  maggots  were  before. 

i  The  club  in  Kussell  Street,  Co  vent  Garden,  where  Swift,  Gay, 
Pope,  and  Addison,  &c.,  met.  Button  had  been  a  butler  of  Lady 
Warwick's,  Addison's  wife. 


374  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

ON   MBS.   PULTENET  1 

WITH  scornful  mien,  and  various  toss  of  air, 

Fantastic,  vain,  and  insolently  fair, 

Grandeur  intoxicates  her  giddy  brain, 

She  looks  ambition,  and  she  moves  disdain. 

Far  other  carriage  graced  her  virgin  life, 

But  charming  Gumley' s  lost  in  Ptdteney's  wife. 

Not  greater  arrogance  in  him  we  find, 

And  this  conjunction  swells  at  least  her  mind: 

O  could  the  sire,  renowned  in  glass,2  produce 

One  faithful  mirror  for  his  daughter's  use ! 

Wherein  she  might  her  haughty  errors  trace, 

And  by  reflection  learn  to  mend  her  face: 

The  wonted  sweetness  to  her  form  restore, 

Be  what  she  was,  and  charm  mankind  once  more! 


LINES  SUNG  BY  DUEASTANTI3  WHEN  SHE 
TOOK  LEAVE  OF  THE  ENGLISH  STAGE. 

THE    WORDS    WERE   IN   HASTE    PITT   TOGETHER   BY  MR.  POPE,  AT  THE 
REQUEST    OF    THE    EARL    OF    PETERBOROUGH. 

GENEROUS,  gay,  and  gallant  nation, 
Bold  in  arms,  and  bright  in  arts; 

Land  secure  from  all  invasion, 
All  but  Cupid's  gentle  darts ! 

From  your  charms,  oh  who  would  run? 

Who  would  leave  you  for  the  sun  ? 
Adieu,  happy  soil,  adieu. 

1  Anna  Maria  Gumley,  daughter  of  John  Gumley  of  Isleworth,  was 
married  to  Pulteney,  who  received  with  her  a  large  fortune.— B&wles. 

2  Her  father  made  his  fortune  from  a  glass  manufactory.—  Bowles. 

3  She  was  brought  to  England  by  Handel,  to  sing  at  the  opera,  1721, 
rnd  was  so  great  a  favourite 'at  Court,  that  the  king  stood  godfather 
to  one  of  her  children. — BoivUs. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  375 

Let  old  charmers  yield  to  new; 

In  arms,  in  arts,  be  still  more  shining; 
All  your  joys  be  still  increasing; 

All  your  tastes  be  still  refining; 
All  your  jars  forever  ceasing, 

But  let  old  charmers  yield  to  new: — 

Happy  soil,  adieu,  adieu! 


OCCASIONED    BY    SOME    VEESES    OF    HIS 
GEACE  THE  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM. 

MUSE,  'tis  enough:  at  length  thy  labour  ends, 
And  thou  shalt  live,  for  BUCKINGHAM  commends. 
Let  crowds  of  critics  now  my  verse  assail, 
Let  Dennis  write,  and  nameless  numbers  rail: 
This  more  than  pays  whole  years  of  thankless  pain," 
Time,  health,  and  fortune  are  not  lost  in  vain. 
SHEFFIELD  approves,  consenting  Phoebus  bends, 
And  I  ^nd  Malice  from  this  hour  are  friends. 


ON  MES.  TOFTS.1 

So  bright  is  thy  beauty,  so  charming  thy  song, 

As  had  drawn  both  the  beasts  and  their  Orpheus 

along; 

But  such  is  thy  avarice,  and  such  is  thy  pride, 
That  the  beasts  must  have  starved,  and  the  poet 

have  died. 

1  This  epigram  is  ascribed  to  Pope  by  Sir  John  Hawkins,  in 
his  History  of  Music.  She  (Mrs.  Tofts)  was  daughter  of  a  person  in 
Bishop  Burnet's  family.  She  lived  during  the  introduction  of  opera 
into  this  country,  and  sang  with  Nicolini,  but  as  she  knew  no  Italian 
Bhe  sang  in  English,  and  he  in  his  own  language.  She  was  very 
proud  and  covetous. — From  Johnson, 


376  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


ON  HIS  GEOTTO1  AT  TWICKENHAM. 

COMPOSED     OF     MARBLES,     SPARS,     GEMS,     ORES,     AND     MINERALS. 

THOU  who  shalt  stop,  where  Thames'  translucent  wave 
Shines  a  broad  mirror  through  the  shadowy  cave;  , 
Where  ling'ring  drops  from  min'ral  roofs  distill, 
And  pointed  crystals  break  the  sparkling  rill, 
Unpolished  gems  no  ray  on  pride  bestow, 
And  latent  metals  innocently  glow: 
Approach !     Great  Nature  studiously  behold; 
And  eye  the  mine  without  a  wish  for  gold. 
Approach;  but  awful!  Lo!  the  Egerian  grot, 
Where,  nobly-pensive,  St.  John 2  sate  and  thought; 
Where  British  sighs  from  dying  Wyndham 3  stole, 
And  the  bright  flame  was  shot  through  Marchnaont's 

soul. 

Let  such,  such  only  tread  this  sacred  floor, 
Who  dare  to  love  their  country,  and  be  poor, 


EPIGKAM. 

You  beat  your  pate,  and  fancy  wit  will  come, 
Knock  as  you  please,  there's  nobody  at  home. 


[From  the  Miscellany.} 

IMPEOMPTU  TO  LADY  WINCHILSEA. 

OCCASIONED   BY  FOUR  SATIRICAL  VERSES  ON  WOMEN- WITS,  IN   THE 
"RAPE  OF  THE   LOCK." 

IN  vain  you  boast  poetic  names  of  yore, 
And  cite  those  Sapphos  we  admire  no  more: 
Fate  doomed  the  fall  of  every  female  wit; 
But  doomed  it  then,  when  first  Ardelia  writ. 

1  The  improving  and    finishing   his   grotto   was   the  delight  of 
his  declining  years.—  Warburton. 

2  Lord  Bolingbroke. 

3  Sir  William  Wyndham,  a  most  noble  and  excellent  man. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  377 

Of  all  examples  by  the  world  confessed, 
I  knew  Ardelia  could  not  quote  the  best; 
Who,  like  her  mistress  on  Britannia's  throne, 
Fights  and  subdues  in  quarrels  not  her  own. 
To  write  their  praise  you  but  in  vain  essay: 
Even  while  you  write  you  take  that  praise  away; 
Light  to  the  stars  the  sun  does  thus  restore, 
But  shines  himself  till  they  are  seen  no  more. 


ANSWER  TO  THE  FOLLOWING    QUESTION 
OF  MISS  HOWE.1 

WHAT  is  PKUDEKY  ? 

'Tis  a  beldam, 

Seen  with  wit  and  beauty  seldom. 
'Tis  a  fear  that  starts  at  shadows; 
'Tis  (no  'tisn't)  like  Miss  Meadows.2 
'Tis  a  virgin  hard  of  feature, 
Old,  and  void  of  all  good-nature: 
Lean  and  fretful,  would  seem  wise; 
Yet  plays  the  fool  before  she  dies. 
'Tis  an  ugly  envious  shrew, 
That  rails  at  dear  Lepell  and  you. 


[From  the  Miscellany.} 

UMBRA.3 

CLOSE  to  the  best  known  author  Umbra  sits, 

The  constant  index  to  all  Button's  wits. 

"Who's   here?"  cries  Umbra:  "Only  Johnson," — 

"Oh! 
Your  slave,"  and  exit;  but  returns  with  Rowe: 

1  One  of  the  maids  of  honour  to  Queen  Caroline. 

2  Miss  Meadows  was  remarkable,  like  Miss  Lepell  and  Miss  Bellen- 
den,  for  her  amiable  character.    They  were  maids  of  honour  to 
Queen  Caroline.    Miss  Lepell   afterwards    married    Lord    Hervey. 
Gay  called  her,  "  Youth's  youngest  daughter,  sweet  Lepell." 

3  Supposed  to  be  J.  Moore  Smyth,  whom  he  describes  a.s  a  shadow 
in  the  "Punciad," 


378  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

"Dear  Bowe,  let's  sit  and  talk  of  tragedies:" 
Ere  long  Pope  enters,  and  to  Pope  lie  Hies. 
Then  up  comes  Steele:  he  turns  upon  his  heel, 
And  in  a  moment  fastens  upon  Steele; 
But  cries  as  soon,  "  Dear  Dick,  I  must  be  gone, 
For,  if  I  know  his  tread,  here's  Addison." 
Says  Addison  to  Steele,  "'Tis  time  to  go;" 
Pope  to  the  closet  steps  aside  with  Rowe. 
Poor  Umbra  left  in  this  abandoned  pickle, 
E'en  sets  him  down,  and  writes  to  honest  TickslL 
]j}Dol!  'tis  in  vain  from  wit  to  wit  to  roam; 
Know,  sense,  like  charity,  begins  at  home. 


VEBBATIM  FKOM  BOILEAU. 

Un  jour,  dit  un  auteur,  etc. 

ONCE  (says  an  author,  wrhe£e,  I  need  not  say) 
Two  trav'llers  found  an  oyster  in  their  way; 
Both  fierce,  both  hungry;  the  dispute  grew  strong; 
While  scale  in  hand  Dame  Justice  pass'd  along. 
Before  her  each  with  clamour  pleads  the  laws, 
Explain'd  the  matter,  and  would  win  the  cause. 
Dame  Justice  weighing  long  the  doubtful  right, 
Takes,  opens,  swallows  it,  before  their  sight. 
The  cause  of  strife  removed  so  rarely  well, 
"  There,  take,"  (says  Justice),  "  take  ye  each  a  shell. 
We  thrive  at  Westminster  on  fools  like  you: 
'Twas  a  fat  oyster — Live  in  peace — Adieu." 


THE  CHALLENGE. 

A   COUBT    BALLAD. 

To  the  tune  of  "  To  all  you  Ladies  now  at  Land,"  &c.    By  Dorset 
1717. 


To  one  fair  lady  out  of  court, 
And  two  fair  ladies  in, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  379 

Who  think  the  Turk l  and  Pope 2  a  sport, 

And  wit  and  love  no  sin ! 
Come,  these  soft  lines,  with  nothing  stiff  in, 
To  Bellenden,3  Lepell,4  and  Griffin.5 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 

ii. 

What  passes  in  the  dark  third  row, 

And  what  behind  the  scene, 
Couches  and  crippled  chairs  I  know, 

And  garrets  hung  with  green; 
I  know  the  swing  of  sinful  hack, 
Where  many  damsels  cry  alack. 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 

in. 

Then  why  to  courts  should  I  repair, 
Where's  such  ado  with  Townshend  ? 

To  hear  each  mortal  stamp  and  swear, 
And  ev'ry  speech  with  "zounds"  end; 

To  hear  them  rail  at  honest  Sunderland, 

And  rashly  blame  the  realm  of  Blunderland.' 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 

IV. 

Alas !  like  Schutz  I  cannot  pun, 
Like  Grafton  court  the  Germans; 

Tell  Pickenbourg  how  slim  she's  grown, 
Like  Meadows 7  run  to  sermons; 

To  Court  ambitious  men  may  roam, 

But  I  and  Marlborough  stay  at  borne. 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 

v. 
In  truth,  by  what  I  can  discern, 

Of  courtiers,  'twixt  you  three, 
Some  wit  you  have,  and  more  may  learn, 

From  Court,  than  Gay  or  me : 

1  Ulrick,  the  little  Turk,  one  of  the  Turks  who  came  to  England  with 
George  I. 

2  The  author. 

3  Mary,  the  youngest  daughter  of  the  second  Lord  Bellenden,  after, 
wards  married  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle. 

4  See  previous  note.  5  Another  maid  of  honour,  6  Ireland, 
7  §ee  previous  note, 


380  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Perhaps,  in  time,  you'll  leave  high  diet, 
To  sup  with  us  on  milk  and  quiet. 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 

VI. 

At  Leicester  Fields,  a  house  full  high, 
With  door  all  painted  green, 

Where  ribbons  wave  upon  the  tie, 
(A  milliner  I  mean;) 

There  may  you  meet  us  three  to  three, 

For  Gay  can  well  make  two  of  me. 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 

vn. 

But  should  you  catch  the  prudish  itch, 
And  each  become  a  coward, 

Bring  sometimes  with  you  Lady  Rich,1 
And  sometimes  Mrs.  Howard; 

For  virgins,  to  keep  chaste,  must  go 

Abroad  with  such  as  are  not  so. 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 

vm. 

And  thus,  fair  maids,  my  ballad  ends; 

God  send  the  king  safe  landing;2 
And  make  all  honest  ladies  friends 

To  armies  that  are  standing; 
Preserve  the  limits  of  those  nations, 
And  take  off  ladies'  limitations. 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 


TO  MKS.  MARTHA  BLOUNT  ON  HER 
BIRTHDAY. 

1723. 

OH  !  be  thou  blest  with  all  that  heaven  can  send, 
Long  health,    long   youth,  long  pleasure,  and  a 
friend : 

1  Lady  Rich  was  Miss  Griffin's  sister  and.  a  correspondent  of  Lady 
M.  "W.  Montagu. 
9  JJe  bad  been  to  JJanover, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  381 

Not  with  those  toys  the  female  world  admire, 
Riches  that  vex,  and  vanities  that  tire. 
With  added  years  if  life  bring  nothing  new, 
But,  like  a  sieve,  let  ev'ry  blessing  through, 
Some  joy  still  lost,  as  each  vain  year  runs  o'er, 
And  all  we  gain,  some  sad  reflection  more; 
Is  that  a  birthday?  'tis  alas!  too  clear, 
'Tis  but  the  funeral  of  the  former  year. 

Let  joy  or  ease,  let  affluence  or  content, 
And  the  gay  conscience  of  a  life  well  spent, 
Calm  ev'ry  thought,  inspirit  ev'ry  grace, 
Glow  in  thy  heart,  and  smile  upon  thy  face. 
Let  day  improve  on  day,  and  year  on  year, 
Without  a  pain,  a  trouble,  or  a  fear; 
Till  death  unfelt  that  tender  frame  destroy, 
In  some  soft  dream,  or  ecstacy  of  joy, 
Peaceful  sleep  out  the  Sabbath  of  the  tomb, 
And  wake  to  raptures  in  a  life  to  come. 


LINES  TO  WINDSOR  FOREST. 

SENT  IN  A  LETTER   TO  MARTHA  BLOUNT. 

ALL  hail,  once  pleasing,  once  inspiring  shade, 

Scene  of  my  youthful  loves  and  happy  hours ! 
Where  the  kind  muses  met  me  as  I  strayed, 

And  gently  pressed  my  hands,  and  said,  Be  ours. 
Take  all  thou  e'er  shalt  have,  a  constant  Muse; 

At  court  thou  mayst  be  liked,  but  nothing  gain; 
Stocks  thou  mayst  buy  and  sell,  but  always  lose; 

And  love  the  brightest  eyes,  but  love  in  vain. 


THE  THEEE  GENTLE  SHEPHERDS.1 

OF  gentle  Philips  will  I  ever  sing, 
With  gentle  Philips  shall  the  valleys  ring. 
My  numbers  too  for  ever  will  I  vary, 
With  gentle  Budgell  and  with  gentle  Carey. 


1  Ambrose  Philips,  the  author  of  the  "Pastorals,"  which  Pope  ridi- 
culed severely  in  the  "Tatler."    He  wasborn  1671,  died  3749.    Engtaaq 


382  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Or  if  in  ranging  of  the  names  I  judge  ill, 
With  gentle  Carey  and  with  gentle  Budgell: 
Oh!  may  all  gentle  bards  together  place  ye, 
Men  of  good  hearts,  and  men  of  delicacy. 
May  satire  ne'er  befool  ye,  or  beknave  ye, 
And  from  all  wits  that  have  a  knack,  God  save  y©, 


YEESES  TO  DE.  BOLTON,1 

IN   THE   NAME    OF   MRS.    BUTLER'S    SPIRIT,    LATELY    DECEASED 

STRIPPED  to  the  naked  soul,  escaped  from  clay, 
From  doubts  unfettered,  and  dissolved  in  day; 
Unwarmed  by  vanity,  unreached  by  strife, 
And  all  my  hopes  and  fears  thrown  off  with  life;, 
Why  am  I  charmed  by  friendship's  fond  essays 
And  though  unbodied,  conscious  of  thy  praise  ? 
Has  pride  a  portion  in  the  parted  soul  ? 
Does  passion  still  the  firmless  mind  control  ? 
Can  gratitude  out-pant  the  silent  breath  ? 
Or  a  friend's  sorrow  pierce  the  gloom  of  death  ? 
No — 'tis  a  spirit's  nobler  task  of  bliss; 
That  feels  the  worth  it  left,  in  proofs  like  this; 
That  not  its  own  applause,  but  thine  approves, 
Whose  practice  praises,  and  whose  virtue  loves; 
Who  liv'st  to  crown  departed  friends  with  fame; 
Then  dying,  late,  shalt  all  thou  gav'st  reclaim. 


TO  ME.  THOMAS  SOUTHEEN.' 

OX    HIS    BIRTHDAY,    1742. 

EESIGNED  to  live,  prepared  to  die, 
With  not  one  sin,  but  poetry, 
This  day  Tom's  fair  account  has  run 
(Without  a  blot)  to  eighty-one. 


Budgell  was  a  clerk  of  Addison's.  He  wrote  for  the  "  Tatler,"  "Spec- 
tator," and  " Guardian:"  born  1685,  drowned  1736.  Henry  Carey  aiso 
composed  pastorals.  He  was  an  excellent  .musician.  His  sous  ''Sally 
in  our  Alley,"  is  still  admired.  He  died  1743. 

1  Dr.  Bolton,  Dean  of  Carlisle,  lived  some  time  at  Twickenham  with 
old  Lady  Blount.    On  the  death  of  her  mother,  Mrs.  Butler  of  Sussex, 
J)r.  Bolton  drew  up  the  mother's  character,  and  from  thence  Pope  took 
occasion  to  write  this  Epistle  to  Dr.  Bolton. — Ruff  head. 

2  Southern  was  a  poet  and  dramatist.    His  most  popular  dramas 
were  " Isabella  "  and  «*  Oroonoko."    He  lived  long  and  died  rich. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  383 

Kind  Boyle,  before  his  poet,  lays 
A  table,1  with  a  cloth  of  bays; 
And  Ireland,  mother  of  sweet  singers, 
Presents  her  harp 2  still  to  his  fingers. 
The  feast,  his  tow'ring  genius  marks 
In  yonder  wild  goose  and  the  larks! 
The  mushrooms  show  his  wit  was  sudden ! 
And  for  his  judgment,  lo,  a  pudden ! 
Roast  beef,  though  old,  proclaims  him  stout, 
And  grace,  although  a  bard,  devout. 
May  Tom,  whom  heaven  sent  down  to  raise 
The  price  of  prologues  and  of  plays,3 
Be  every  birth-day  more  a  winner, 
.  Digest  his  thirty  thousandth  dinner; 
Walk  to  his  grave  without  reproach, 
And  scorn  a  rascal  and  a  coach. 


[From  the  Miscellany.} 

SANDYS'S4    GHOST;    OE,    A   PROPER    NEW 

BALLAD  ON  THE    NEW  OVID'S 

METAMORPHOSES. 

AS    IT   WAS   INTENDED   TO    BE    TRANSLATED    BY    PERSONS    OF    QUALITY. 

YE  Lords  and  Commons,  men  of  wit, 

And  pleasure  about  town; 
Read  this  ere  you  translate  one  bit 

Of  books  of  high  renown. 

1  Mr.   Southern  was  invited  to  dine  on  his   birthday  with  this 
nobleman  (Lord  Orrery),  who  had  prepared  for  him  the  entertain- 
ment of  which  the  bill  of  fare  is  here  set  down.—  Warburton. 

2  The  harp  is  generally  wove  on  the  Irish  linen;  such  as  table- 
cloths, &c.—  Warburton. 

3  This  alludes  to  a  story  Mr.  Southern  told  of  Dryden.    When 
Southern  first  wrote  for  the  stage,  Dryden  was  so  famous  for  his  pro- 
logues, that  the  players  would  act  nothing  without  that  decoration. 
His  usual  price  till  then  had  been  four  guineas :  but  when  Southern 
came)  to  him  for  the  prologue  he  had  bespoke,  Dryden  told  him  ho 
must  have  six  guineas  for  it;  "  which  (said  he),  young  man,  is  out 
of  no  disrespect  to  you^  but  the  players  have  had  my  goods  too 
cheap."    We  now  look  on  these  prologues  with  tho  same  admiration 
that  the  virtuosi  do  on  the  apothecaries'  pots  painted  by  Raphael.— 
Wtirburton. 

4  George  Sandys,  an  English  poet  who  translated  "Ovid";  boru 
1077,  died  1644.    Both  Dryden  and  Popo  praise  him. 


384  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Beware  of  Latin  authors  all ! 

Nor  think  your  verses  sterling, 
Though  with  a  golden  pen  you  scrawlj 

And  scribble  in  a  Berlin. 

For  not  the  desk  with  silver  nails, 

Nor  bureau  of  expense, 
Nor  standish  well  japanned  avails 

To  writing  of  good  sense. 

Hear  how  a  ghost  in  dead  of  night, 

With  saucer  eyes  of  fire, 
In  woeful  wise  did  sore  affright 

A  wit  and  courtly  squire. 

Rare  Imp  of  Phoebus,  hopeful  youth. 

Like  puppy  tame  that  uses 
To  fetch  and  carry,  in  his  mouth, 

The  works  of  all  the  muses. 

Ah !  why  did  he  write  poetry, 

That  hereto  was  so  civil; 
And  sell  his  soul  for  vanity, 

To  rhyming  and  the  devil? 

A  desk  he  had  of  curious  work, 
With  glittering  studs  about; 

Within  the  same  did  Sandys  lurk, 
Though  Ovid  lay  without. 

Now  as  he  scrached  to  fetch  up  thought, 
Forth  popped  the  sprite  so  thin; 

And  from  the  key-hole  bolted  out, 
All  upright  as  a  pin. 

With  whiskers,  band,  and  pantaloon, 
And  ruff  composed  most  duly; 

This  squire  he  dropped  his  pen  full  soon, 
While  as  the  light  burned  bluely. 

"  Ho !  Master  Sam,"  quoth  Sandy s's  sprite^ 
"Write  on,  nor  let  me  scare  ye; 

Forsooth,  if  rhymes  fall  in  not  right, 
To  Budgell  seek,  or  Carey. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  385 

"  I  hear  the  beat  of  Jacob's  drums, 

Poor  Ovid  finds  no  quarter ! 
See  first  the  merry  P —       -  comes1 

In  haste,  without  his  garter. 

"  Then  lords  and  lordlings,  squires  and  knights, 
Wits,  witlings,  prigs,  and  peers ! 

Garth  at  St.  James's  and  at  White's, 
Beats  up  for  volunteers. 

"  What  Fenton  will  not  do,  nor  Gay, 
Nor  Congreve,  Howe,  nor  Stanyan, 

Tom  Burnett  or  Tom  D'Urfey  may, 
John  Dunton,  Steele,  or  any  one. 

"If  Justice  Philips'  costive  head 

Some  frigid  rhymes  disburses; 
They  shall  like  Persian  tales  be  read, 

And  glad  both  babes  and  nurses. 

"Let  Warwick's  muse  with  Ashursfc  join. 
And  Ozell's  with  Lord  Hervey's: 

Tickell  and  Addison  combine, 
And  Pope  translate  with  Jervas. 

"L 2  himself,  that  lively  lord, 

Who  bows  to  every  lady, 
Shall  join  with  F 3  in  one  accord, 

And  be  like  Tate  and  Brady. 

"Ye  ladies  too  draw  forth  your  pen, 

I  pray  where  can  the  hurt  lie  ? 
Since  you  have  brains  as  well  as  men, 

As  witness  lady  WTortley, 

"  Now,  Tonson,  list  thy  forces  all, 

Review  them,  and  tell  noses; 
For  to  poor  Ovid  shall  befall 

A  strange  metamorphosis. 

"A  metamorphosis  more  strange 
Than  all  his  books  can  vapour; " 

"  To  what "  (quoth  squire)  "shall  Ovid  change?" 
Quoth  Sandys:  "To  waste  paper." 

i  Supposed  to  be  Lord  Pembroke, 
a  Supposed  to  be  Lord  Laasdowne,  3  Frowde, 


386  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


EPITAPHS  ON  JOHN  HUGHES  AND 
SAEAH  DKEW.1 

WHEN -eastern  lovers  feed  the  fun'ral  fire, 
On  the  same  pile  the  faithful  fair  expire : 
Here  pitying  heav'n  that  virtue  mutual  found, 
And  blasted  both,  that  it  might  neither  wound. 
Hearts  so  sincere  th'  Almighty  saw  well  pleased, 
Sent  His  own  lightning,  and  the  victims  seized. 


Think  not,  by  rig'rous  judgment  seized, 
A  pair  so  faithful  could  expire; 

Victims  so  pure  Heav'n  saw  well  pleased, 
And  snatched  them  in  celestial  fire. 

n. 

Live  well,  and  fear  no  sudden  fate; 

When  God  calls  virtue  to  the  grave, 
Alike  'tis  justice,  soon  or  late, 

Mercy  alike  to  kill  or  save. 
Virtue  unmoved  can  hear  the  call, 
And  face  the  flash  that  melts  the  ball 


EPIGEAM. 

YES  !  'tis  the  time  (I  cried,)  impose  the  chain, 
Destined  and  due  to  wretches  self-enslaved; 

But  when  I  saw  such  charity  remain, 

I  half  could  wish  this  people  should  be  saved. 

Faith  lost,  and  hope,  our  charity  begins; 

And  'tis  a  wise  design  in  pitying  heaven, 
If  this  can  cover  multitude  of  sins, 

To  take  the  only  way  to  be  forgiven. 

1  These  were  two  rustic  lovers  who  were  simultaneously  strnck  by 
iightuin/j  beneath  a  hay-stack  on  the  last  day  of  July  1718.  Poye  r^- 
tetes  their  story  in  a  letter  to  Lady  M.  W.  Montagu, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  387 


ON  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BURLINGTON 
CUTTING  PAPER 

PALLAS  grew  vapourish  once,  and  odd, 
She  would  not  do  the  least  right  thing, 

Either  for  goddess,  or  for  god, 

Nor  work,  nor  play,  nor  paint,  nor  sing. 

Jove  frowned,  and,  "  Use,"  he  cried,  "those  eyes 
So  skilful,  and  those  hands  so  taper; 

Do  something  exquisite  and  wise" — 
She  bowed,  obeyed  him,  and  cut  paper. 

This  vexing  him  who  gave  her  birth, 
Thought  by  all  heaven  a  burning  shame; 

What  does  she  next,  but  bids,  on  earth, 
Her  Burlington  do  just  the  same. 

Pallas,  you  give  yourself  strange  airs; 

But  sure  you'll  find  it  hard  to  spoil 
The  sense  and  taste  of  one  that  bears 

The  name  of  Saville  and  of  Boyle. 

Alas!  one  bad  example  shown; 

How  quickly  all  the  sex  pursue ! 
See,  madam,  see  the  arts  overthrown, 

Between  John  Overton  and  you! 


ON  A  PICTURE  OF  QUEEN  CAROLINE, 

DRAWN    BY    LADY    BURLINGTON. 

PEACE,  flattering  Bishop !  lying  Dean ! 1 
This  portrait  only  paints  the  Queen ! 

iAlured,  Dean  of    Carlisle,  is  the  dean  alluded  to;    he  wrote 
a  panegyric  on  Queen  Caroline, 


388  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


SONG,1 

BY   A   PERSON   OF   QUALITY.       WRITTEN    IN   THE   YEAR   1733^ 

FLUTT'RING  spread  thy  purple  pinions, 

Gentle  Cupid,  o'er  my  heart, 
I  a  slave  in  thy  dominions; 

Nature  must  give  way  to  art. 

Mild  Arcadians,  ever  blooming, 
Nightly  nodding  o'er  your  flotks, 

See  my  weary  days  consuming, 
All  beneath  yon  flow'ry  rocks. 

Thus  the  Cyprian  goddess  weeping, 

Mourn'd  Adonis,  darling  youth: 
Him  the  boar,  in  silence  creeping, 
•  Gored  with  unrelenting  tooth. 

Cynthia,  tune  harmonious  numbers; 

Fair  Discretion,  string  the  lyre; 
Sooth  my  ever- waking  slumbers; 

Bright  Apollo,  lend  thy  choir. 

Gloomy  Pluto,  king  of  terrors, 

Arai'd  in  adamantine  chains, 
Lead  me  to  the  crystal  mirrors, 

Wat'ring  soft  Elysian  plains. 

Mournful  cypress,  verdant  willow, 

Gilding  my  Aurelia's  brows, 
Morpheus  hovering  o'er  my  pillow, 

Hear  me  pay  my  dying  vows. 

Melancholy  smooth  Mseander, 

Swiftly  purling  in  a  round, 
On  thy  margin  lovers  wander, 

With  thy  flow'ry  chaplets  crown'd. 

Thus  when  Philomela,  drooping, 

Softly  seeks  her  silent  mate, 
See  the  bird  of  Juno  stooping; 

Melody  resigns  to  fate. 

1  A  pleasant  burlesque  cm  the  style  of  certain  descriptive  poets, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  389 


UPON    THE    DUKE    OF     MAKLBOKOUGH'S 
HOUSE  AT  WOODSTOCK. 

Atria  longe  patent ;  sed  nee  ccenantibus  usquam 
Nee  somno  locus  est :  quam  bene  non  habitas  ! 

MART.  Epig. 

SEE,  sir,  here's  the  grand  approach, 
This  way  is  for  his  Grace's  coach; 
There  lies  the  bridge,  and  here's  the  clock, 
Observe  the  lion  and  the  cock, 
The  spacious  court,  the  colonnade, 
And  mark  how  wide  the  hall  is  made ! 
The  chimneys  are  so  well  designed, 
They  never  smoke  in  any  wind. 
This  gallery's  contrived  for  walking, 
The  windows  to  retire  and  talk  in; 
The  council-chamber  for  debate, 
And  all  the  rest  are  rooms  of  state. 

"Thanks,  sir,"  cried  I,  "  'tis  very  fine, 
But  where  d'ye  sleep,  or  where  d'ye  dine  ? 
I  find  by  ah1  you  have  been  telling, 
That  'tis  a  house,  but  not  a  dwelSng." 


ON  AN  OLD  GATE  AT  CHISWICK. 

0  GATE,  how  earnest  thou  here  ? 

1  was  brought  from  Chelsea  last  year, 
Battered  with  wind  and  weather; 
Inigo  Jones  put  me  together; 

Sir  Hans  Sloane  let  me  alone; 
Burlington  brought  me  hither. 


390  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


VEKSES  LEFT  BY  ME.  POPE, 

ON    HIS    LYING   IN   THE    SAME    BED    WHICH   WILMOT,    THE    CELEBRATED 
EARL  OF  ROCHESTER,   SLEPT  IN,   AT  ADDERBURY,  THEN   BELONG- 
ING  TO    THE    DUKE    OF   ARGYLE,    JULY   9,    1739. 

WITH  no  poetic  ardour  fired, 

I  press  the  bed  where  Wilmot  lay ; 

That  here  he  loved,  or  here  expired, 
Begets  no  numbers,  grave  or  gay. 

Beneath  thy  roof,  Argyle,  are  bred, 

Such  thoughts  as  prompt  the  brave  to  lie 

Stretched  out  in  honour's  nobler  bed, 
Beneath  a  nobler  roof — the  sky. 

Such  flames  as  high  in  patriots  burn 
Yet  stoop  to  bless  a  child  or  wife  ; 

And  such  as  wicked  kings  may  mourn, 
When  freedom  is  more  dear  than  life. 


EPIGRAM  TO  LOED  RADNOR 

My  lord1   complains    that  Pope,   stark  mad  with 

gardens, 

Has  lopt  three  trees,  the  value  of  three  farthings: 
"But  he's  my  neighbour,"  cries  the  peer  polite: 
"  And  if  he'll  visit  me,  I'll  waive  the  right." 
What !  on  compulsion,  and  against  my  will, 
A  lord's  acquaintance  ?    Let  him  file  his  bill ! 


VEESES    TO   ME.  CEAGGS. 

ST.  JAMES'S  PALACE,  LONDON,  OCT.  22. 

FEW  words  are  best ;  I  wish  you  well ; 

Bethel,  I'm  told,  will  soon  be  here ; 
Some  morning  walks  along  the  Mall, 

And  evening  friends,  will  end  the  year. 

1  Note  to  the  "Dunciad." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  391 

If,  in  this  interval,  between 

The  falling  leaf  and  coming  frost, 

You  please  to  see,  on  Twit'nam  green, 
Your  friend,  you  poet,  and  your  host ; 

For  three  whole  days  you  here  may  rest 
From  office  business,  news  and  strife  ; 

And  (what  most  folks  would  think  a  jest) 
Want  nothing  else,  except  your  wife. 


[From  the  Miscellany. ,] 

TO    QUINBUS    FLESTEIN,    THE    MAN 
MOUNTAIN.1 

AK    ODE   BY  TILLY-TIT,    POET    LAUREATE    TO    HIS    MAJESTY   OF    LILLIPUT. 
TRANSLATED    INTO    ENGLISH. 

IN  amaze,  Overturn 

Lost  I  gaze,  Man  and  steed : 

Can  our  eyes  Troops,  take  heed ! 

Beach  thy  size?  Left  and  right, 

May  my  lays  Speed  your  flight ! 

Swell  with  praise,  Lest  an  host 

'  Worthy  thee !  Beneath  his  foot  be  lost. 
Worthy  me ! 

Muse,  inspire,  Turned  aside, 

All  thy  fire !  From  his  hide, 

Bards  of  old  Safe  from  wound, 

Of  him  told,  Darts  rebound. 

When  they  said  From  his  nose 

Atlas'  head  Clouds  he  blows: 

Propped  the  skies  :  When  he  speaks, 
See !  and  believe  your  eyes !         Thunder  breaks ! 

When  he  eats, 

See  him  stride  Famine  threats ! 

Valleys  wide,  When  he  drinks, 

Over  woods,  Neptune  shrinks! 

Over  floods !  Nigh  thy  ear, 

When  he  treads,  In  mid  air, 

Mountains'  heads  On  thy  hand 

Groan  and  shake:  Let  me  stand ; 

Armies  quake:  So  shall  I, 

Lest  his  spurn Lofty  poet,  touch  the  sky. 

1  Gulliver.  The  poem  is  supposed  to  b©  written  by  a  Lilliputian  poet 


392  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


THE  LAMENTATION  OF  GLUMDALCLITCH* 
FOE  THE  LOSS  OF  GKILDKIG. 

A    PASTORAL. 

SOON  as  Glumdalclitch  missed  her  pleasing  care, 
She  wept,  she  blubbered,  and  she  tore  her  hair. 
No  British  miss  sincerer  grief  has  shown, 
Her  squirrel  missing,  or  her  sparrow  flown. 
She  furled  her  sampler,  and  hauled  in  her  thread, 
And  stuck  her  needle  into  Grildrig's  bed; 
Then  spread  her  hands,  and  with  a  bounce  let  fall 
Her  baby,  like  the  giant  in  Guildhall. 
In  peals  of  thunder  now  she  roars,  and  now 
She  genlty  whimpers  like  a  lowing  cow: 
Yet  lovely  in  her  sorrow  still  appears, 
Her  locks  dishevelled,  and  her  flood  of  tears 
Seem  like  the  lofty  barn  of  some  rich  swain, 
When  from  the  thatch  drips  fast  a  shower  of  rain. 

In  vain  she  searched  each  cranny  of  the  house, 
Each  gaping  chink  impervious  to  a  mouse. 
"  Was  it  for  this"  (she  cried)  "  with  daily  care 
Within  thy  reach  I  set  the  vinegar, 
And  filled  the  cruet  with  the  acid  tide, 
While  pepper-water  worms  thy  bait  supplied; 
Where  twined  the  silver  eel  around  thy  hook, 
And  all  the  little  monsters  of  the  brook. 
Sure  in  that  lake  he  dropped;  my  Grilly's  drowned." — 
She  dragged  the  cruet,  but  no  Grildrig  found. 

"  Yain  is  thy  courage,  Grilly,  vain  thy  boast; 
But  little  creatures  enterprise  the  most. 
Trembling,  I've  seen  thee  dare  the  kitten's  paw, 
Nay,  mix  with  children,  as  they  played  at  taw, 
Nor  fear  the  marbles  as  they  bounding  flew; 
Marbles  to  them,  but  rolling  rocks  to  you. 

"Why  did  I  trust  thee  with  that  giddy  youth? 
Who  from  a  page  can  ever  learn  the  truth  ? 
Versed  in  court  tricks,  that  money-loving  boy 
To   some  lord's  daughter  sold  the  living  toy; 
Or  rent  him  limb  from  limb  in  cruel  play, 
As  children  tear  the  wings  of  flies  away. 

1  See  the  voyage  to  Brobdingnag,  "  Gulliver's  Travels." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  393 

From  place  to  place  o'er  Brobdingnag  I'll  roam, 

And  never  will  return  or  bring  thee  home. 

But  who  hath  eyes  to  trace  the  passing  wind  ? 

How,  then,  thy  fairy  footsteps  can  I  find  ? 

Dost  thou  bewildered  wander  all  alone, 

In  the  green  thicket  of  a  mossy  stone; 

Or  tumbled  from  the  toadstool's  slippery  round, 

Perhaps  all  maimed,  lie  grovelling  on  the  ground? 

Dost  thoti,  embosomed  in  the  lovely  rose, 

Or  sunk  within  the  peach's  down,  repose  ? 

"Within  the  king-cup  if  thy  limbs  are  spread, 

Or  in  the  golden  cowslip's  velvet  head: 

O  show  me,  Flora,  'midst  those  sweets,  the  flow'r 

Where  sleeps  Grildrig  in  his  favorite  bow'r. 

"  But  ah !  I  fear  thy  little  fancy  roves 
On  little  females,  and  on  little  loves; 
Thy  pigmy  children,  and  thy  tiny  spouse, 
Thy  baby  playthings  that  adorn  thy  house, 
Doors,  windows,  chimneys,  and  the  spacious  rooma* 
Equal  in  size  to  cells  of  honeycombs. 
Hast  thou  for  these  now  ventured  from  the  shore, 
Thy  bark  a  bean-shell,  and  a  straw  thy  oar? 
Or  in  thy  box,  now  bounding  on  the  main, 
Shall  I  ne'er  bear  thyself  and  house  again  ? 
And  shall  I  set  thee  on  my  hand  no  more, 
To  see  thee  leap  the  lines,  and  traverse  o'er 
My  spacious  palm  ?    Of  stature  scarce  a  span, 
Mimic  the  actions  of  a  real  man  ? 
No  more  behold  thee  turn  my  wTatch's  key, 
As  seamen  nt  a  capstern  anchors  weigh? 
How  wert  thou  wont  to  walk  with  cautious  tread, 
A  dish  of  tea  like  milk-pail  on  thy  head ! 
How  chaste  the  mite  that  bore  thy  cheese  away,        < 
And  keep  the  rolling  maggot  at  a  bay !" 

She  said,  but  broken  accents  stopped  her  voice, 
Soft  as  the  speaking-trumpet's  mellow  noise: 
She  sobbed  a  storm,  and  wiped  her  flowing  eyes, 
"Which  seemed  like  two  broad  suns  in  misty  skies, 
O  squander  not  thy  grief;  those  tears  command 
To  weep  upon  our  cod  in  Newfoundland: 
The  plenteous  pickle  shall  preserve  the  fish ; 
And  Europe  taste  thy  sorrows  in  a  dish. 


394  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


TO  MR  LEMUEL  GULLIVER, 

THE    GRATEFUL   ADDRESS   OF   THE    UNHAPPY    HOUYHNHNMS,1   NOW    IN 
SLAVERY    AND    BONDAGE    IN   ENGLAND. 

To  thee,  we  wretches  of  the  Houyhnhnm  band, 
Condemned  to  labour  in  a  barbarous  land, 
Return  OUT  thanks.     Accept  our  humble  lays, 
And  let  each  grateful  Houyhnhnm  neigh  thy  praise. 

O  happy  Yahoo,  purged  from  human  crimes, 
By  the  sweet  sojourn  in  those  virtuous  climes, 
Where  reign  our  sires;  there,  to  thy  country's  shame, 
Reason,  you  found,  and  virtue  were  the  same. 
Their  precepts  razed  the  prejudice  of  youth, 
And  even  a  Yahoo  learned  the  love  of  truth. 

Art  thou  the  first  who  did  the  coast  explore; 
Did  never  Yahoo  tread  that  ground  before  ? 
Yes,  thousands !     But  in  pity  to  their  kind, 
Or  swayed  by  envy,  or  through  pride  of  mind, 
They  hid  their  knowledge  of  a  nobler  race, 
Which  owned,  would  all  their  sires  and  sons  disgrace. 

You,  like  the  Samian,2  visit  lands  unknown, 
And  by  their  wiser  morals  mend  your  own. 
Thus  Orpheus  travelled  to  reform  his  kind, 
Came  back,  and  tamed  the  brutes  he  left  behind. 

You  went,  you  saw,  you  heard:  with  virtue  fought, 
Then  spread  those  morals  which  the  Houyhnhnms 

taught. 

Our  labours  here  must  touch  thy  gen'rous  heart, 
To  see  us  strain  before  the  coach  and  cart; 
Compelled  to  run  each  knavish  jockey's  heat ! 
Subservient  to  Newmarket's  annual  cheat ! 

With  what  reluctance  do  we  lawyers  bear, 
To  fleece  their  country  clients  twice  a  year '? 
Or  managed  in  your  schools,  for  fops  to  ride, 
How  foam,  how  fret  beneath  a  load  of  pride! 
Yes,  we  are  slaves — but  yet,  by  reason's  force, 
Have  learned  to  bear  misfortune,  like  a  horse, 

I  Horses,  Seo  "  Gulliver's  Travels*"  2  Pythagoras. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  395 

0  would  the  stars,  to  ease  my  bonds,  ordain, 
That  gentle  Gulliver  might  guide  my  rein ! 
Safe  would  I  bear  him  to  his  journey's  end, 
For  'tis  a  pleasure  to  support  a  friend. 
But  if  my  life  be  doomed  to  serve  the  bad, 
O !  mayst  thou  never  want  an  easy  pad ! 

HOUYHNHNM. 


LINES  ON  SWIFT'S  ANCESTORS. 

Swift  set  up  a  plain  monument  to  hie  grandfather,  and  also 
presented  a  cup  to  the  church  of  Goodrich,  or  G-otheridge,  in  Here- 
fordshire. He  sent  a  pencilled  elevation  of  the  monument  (a  simple 
tablet)  to  Mrs.  Howard,  who  returned  it  with  the  following  lines, 
inscribed  on  the  drawing  by  Pope.  The  paper  is  endorsed,  in  Swift's 
hand:  "Model  of  a  monument  for  my  grandfather,  with  Pope's 
roguery."— Scott's  "Lives  of  Eminent  Dramatists  and  Novelists" 
(Swift,  p.  2,  Chandos  Classics). 

JONATHAN  SWIFT 

Had  the  gift, 

By  fatherige,  motherige, 

And  by  brotherige, 

To  come  from  Gotherige, 

But  now  is  spoiled  clean, 

And  an  Irish  dean: 

In  this  church  he  has  put 

A  stone  of  two  foot, 

"With  a  cup  and  a  can,  sir, 

In  respect  to  his  grandsire; 

So,  Ireland,  change  thy  tone^ 

And  cry,  O  hone !  O  hone ! 

For  England  hath  its  own. 


ON  CERTAIN  LADIES. 

WHEN  other  fair  ones  to  the  shades  go  down, 
Still  Chloe,  Flavia,  Delia,  stay  in  town: 
Those  ghosts  of  beauty  wandering  here  reside, 
And  haunt  the  places  where  their  honour  died. 


396  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


INSCRIPTION    ON   A   GROTTO,   THE  WORK 
OF  NINE  LADIES.1 

HERE,  shunning  idleness  at  once  and  praise, 
This  radiant  pile  nine  rural  sisters  raise; 
The  glitt'ring  emblem  of  each  spotless  dame, 
Clear  as  her  soul  and  shining  as  her  frame; 
Beauty  which  nature  only  can  impart, 
And  such  a  polish  as  disgraces  art; 
But  fate  disposed  them  in  this  humble  sort, 
And  hid  in  deserts  what  would  charm  a  court. 


EPIGRAM  ON  EPITAPHS. 


,2  for  your  Epitaphs  I'm  grieved, 
Where  still  so  much  is  said, 
One  half  will  never  be  believed, 
The  other  never  read. 


EPIGRAM. 

OCCASIONED   BY   AN   INVITATION   TO   COURT  (BY   THE   MAIDS  OF 
HONOUE). 

IN  the  lines  that  you  sent  are  the  Muses  and  Graces, 
You've  the  nine  in  your  wit,  and  the  three  in  your 
faces. 


EPIGRAM. 

ENGRAVED  ON   THE   COLLAR   OF    A   DOG   WHICH   I   GAVE  TO  HIS 
ROYAL    HIGHNESS.  3 

I  AM  his  Highness*  dog  at  Kew; 
Pray  tell  me,  sir,  whose  dog  are  you? 

1  The  Miss  Lisles,  sisters  of  Dr.  Lisle,  who  wrote  fugitive  poetry. 

2  The  person  here  meant   was  Dr.  Robert  Freind,   head-master 
of  Westminster  School. 

a  This  was  said  to  have  been  the  answer  of  Mr.  Grantham's  Fool  to 
one  who  asked  him  whose  fool  he  was. —  Wart&n, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  397 


TO  SIE  GODFREY  KNELLEE. 

ON    HIS   PAINTING    FOB    ME    THE   STATUES   OF    APOLLO,  VENUS, 
AND    HEECULES. 

WHAT  god,  what  genius,  did  the  pencil  move, 

When  Kneller  painted  these  ? 
Twas  Friendship — warm  as  Phoebus,  kind  as  Love, 

And  strong  as  Hercules. 


TO    A    LADY    WITH     "THE     TEMPLE    OF 
FAME."1 

WHAT'S  fame  with  men,  by  custom  of  the  nation, 
Is  called  in  women  only  reputation; 
About  them  both  why  keep  we  such  a  pother? 
Part  you  with  one,  and  I'll  renounce  the  other. 


EPIGEAM. 

WBITTEN   ON   A  GLASS   WITH    LORD   CHESTERFIELD'S 2    DIAMOND 
PENCIL. 

ACCEPT  a  miracle  instead  of  wit; 

See  two  dull  lines  by  Stanhope's  pencil  writ. 


THE  BALANCE  OF  EUEOPE. 

Now  Europe's  balanced,  neither  side  prevails; 
For  nothing's  left  in  either  of  the  scales. 

1  Martha  Blount  (from  letter  to  her). 

2  Philip  Dormer  Stanhope,  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  was  one  of  the  great- 
est wits  of  his  day.    He  was  born  in  1H94,  died  1773.    He  was  in  the 
opposition  against  Sir  Robert  Waipole.    His  manners  were  considered 
perfect. 


398  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


[From  the  Miscellany.} 

BISHOP  HOUGH.1 

A  BISHOP,  by  his  neighbors  hated, 
Has  cause  to  wish  himself  translated; 
But  why  should  Hough  desire  translation, 
Loved  and  esteemed  by  all  the  nation? 
Yet  if  it  be  the  old  man's  case, 
I'll  lay  my  life  I  know  the  place : 
'Tis  where  God  sent  some  that  adore  him, 
And  whither  Enoch  went  before  him. 


[Prom  the  Letters.] 

TO  GAY. 

This  is  my  birthday ;  and  this  is  my  reflection  on  it. 

WITH  added  days,  if  Life  give  nothing  new, 
But,  like  a  sieve,  let  ev'ry  pleasure  through; 
Some  joy  still  lost  as  each  vain  year  runs  o'er 
And  all  we  gain  some  sad  reflection  more ! 
Is  this  a  birthday  ? — 'Tis  alas  !  too  clear 
'Tis  but  the  funeral  of  another  year. 


EPIGRAM. 

BEHOLD,  ambitious  of  the  British  bays, 

Gibber  and  Duck 2  contend  in  rival  lays. 

But,  gentle  Colley,  should  thy  verse  prevail, 

Thou  hast  no  fence,  alas!    against  his  flail: 

Therefore  thy  claim  resign,  allow  his  right: 

For  Duck  can  thresh,  you  know,  as  well  as  write. 

1  Hough.  Bishop  of  Worcester,  was  horn  1651,  died  1743.     He  was 
elected  President  of  Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  in  opposition  to  the 


that  Dr.  Farmer,  and  afterwards  Bishop  Pai 


lot  His  piety  ana  muuincence. 

2  Stephen'  Duck  was  a  thresher  poet,  who  was  patronised  hy  Queen 
Caroline. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  32 >< 


TRANSLATION    OF     MARTIAL'S     EPIGRAM 
ON  ANTONIUS  PRIMUS.1 

AT  length  my  friend  (while  Time  with  still  career 
Wafts  on  his  gentle  wing  his  eightieth  year) 
Sees  his  past  days  safe  out  of  Fortune's  pow'r 
Nor  dreads  approaching  Fate's  uncertain  hour, 
Reviews  his  life,  and  in  the  strict  survey 
Finds  not  one  moment  he  could  wish  away, 
Pleased  with  the  series  of  each  happy  day. 
Such,  such  a  man  extends  his  life's  short  space, 
And  from  the  goal  again  renews  the  race; 
For  he  lives  twice,  who  can  at  once  employ 
The  present  well,  and  ev'n  the  past  enjoy. 


TO    ERINNA.8 
1722. 

THOUGH  sprightly  Sappho  force  our  love  and  praise 

A  softer  wonder  my  pleased  soul  surveys, 

The  mild  Erinna  blushing  in  her  bays. 

So,  while  the  sun's  broad  beam  yet  strikes  the  sight, 

Ah*  mild  appears  the  moon's  more  sober  light, 

Serene,  in  virgin  majesty  she  shines; 

And  unobserved  the  glaring  sun  declines. 


INSCRIPTION    ON  A  PUNCH-BOWL, 

IN   THE  SOUTH-SEA    YEAH    (1720),    FOE    A    CLUB,    CHASED   WITH 

JUPITEB    PLACING   CALLISTO    IN    THE    SKIES,    AND 

EUROPA    WITH    THE   BULL. 

COME,  fill  the  South  Sea  goblet  full; 

The  gods  shall  of  our  stock  take  care; 
Europa  pleased  accepts  the  bull, 

And  Jove  with  joy  puts  off  the  bear. 

1  Jam  numeral  placidofelix  Antonius  cevo,  Ac. 

2  Erinna  was  a  celebrated  Greek  poetess  who  died  young.     She  was 
chained  by  her  mother  to  her  Spinning  Wheel.    Her  chief  poem  is 
called   "  The  Spindle."     Pope  applies  her  name  to  some  unknown 
literary  friend  of  his  in  these  lines, 


400  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


ON    RECEIVING    FROM    THE    RIGHT    HON. 

THE  LADY  FRANCES  SHIRLEY1  A 

STANDISH  AND  TWO  PENS. 

YES,  I  beheld  th'  Athenian  Queen2 

Descend  in  all  her  sober  charms; 
"  And  take,"  (she  said,  and  smiled  serene,) 

"Take  at  this  hand  celestial  arms: 

"Secure  the  radiant  weapons  wield; 

This  golden  lance  shall  guard  desert, 
And  if  a  vice  dares  keep  the  field, 

This  steel  shall  stab  it  to  the  heart." 

Awed,  on  my  bended  knees  I  fell, 

Received  the  weapons  of  the  sky; 
And  dipt  them  in  the  sable  well, 

The  fount  of  fame  or  infamy. 

"Wh&twell?  what  weapons?"     (Flavia  cries,) 
"  A  standish,  steel  and  golden  pen ! 

It  came  from  Bertrand's,3  not  the  skies; 
I  gave  it  you  to  write  again. 

"  But,  friend,  take  heed  whojn  you  attack; 

You'll  bring  a  house  (I  mean  of  peers) 
Red,  blue,  and  green,  nay  white  and  black, 

L and  all  about  your  ears. 

"  You'd  write  as  smooth  again  on  glass, 

And  run,  on  ivory,  so  glib, 
As  not  to  stick  at  fool  or  ass, 

Nor  stop  at  flattery  or  fib. 

1  To  enter  into  the  spirit  of  this  address,  it  is  necessary  to  premise, 
that  the  poet  was  threatened  with  a  prosecution  in  the  House 
of  Lords,  for  the  two  poems  entitled  the  "  Epilogue  to  the  Satires." 
On  which,  with  great  resentment  against  his  enemies,  for  not  being 
willing  to  distinguish  between 

"Grave  epistles  bringing  vice  to  light" 

and  licentious  libels,  he  began  a  third  dialogue,  more  severe  and 
sublime  than  the  first  and  second ;  which  being  no  secret,  matters 
were  soon  compromised.  His  enemies  agreed  to  drop  the  prosecu- 
tion, and  he  promised  to  leave  the  third  dialogue  unfinished  and 
suppressed.  This  affair  occasioned  this  beautiful  little  poem,  to 
which  it  alludes  throughout,  but  more  especially  in  the  four 
last  stanzas. —  IVarburton  quoted  l>y  Bowles. 

2  Pallas.  3  A  famous  toy-shop  at  Bath .     Warbnrton. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  401 

"  Athenian  Queen !  and  sober  charms ! 

I  tell  ye,  fool,  there's  nothing  i't: 
Tis  Venus,  Venus  gives  these  arms; 

In  Dryden's  Virgil  see  the  print.1 

"  Come,  if  you'll  be  a  quiet  soul, 
That  dares  tell  neither  truth  nor  lies, 

II  lift  you  in  the  harmless  roll 

Of  those  that  sing  of  these  poor  eyes."* 


TKANSLATIDN  OF  A  PRAYEK  OF  BKUTTJS. 

Given  by  Pope  to  the  Rev  Aaron  Thompson,  of  Queen's  College, 
Oxford.  Mr.  Thompson  got  him  to  look  over  a  translation  of  the 
"Chronicle  of  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,"  done  by  himself,  and  Pope 
translated  these  lines  from  it  for  him.  Pope  gives  a  most  amusing 
account  of  his  interviews  with  Mr.  Thompson  in  his  letters. 

GODDESS  of  woods,  tremendous  in  the  chase, 
To  mountain  wolves  and  all  the  savage  race, 
Wide  o'er  th'  aerial  vault  extend  thy  sway, 
And  o'er  th'  infernal  regions  void  of  day. 
On  thy  third  reign  look  down;  disclose  our  fate, 
In  what  new  station  shall  we  fix  our  seat  ? 
When  shall  we  next  thy  hallowed  altars  raise, 
And  choirs  of  virgins  celebrate  thy  praise? 


[From  the  Letters.} 

IMPARTIAL  JOVE. 

JOVE  was  alike  to  Latian  and  Phrygian, 
For  well  you  know  that  Wit's  of  no  religion. 

1  When  she   delivers   to   ^Eneas   a   suit  of   heavenly  armour. — 
Warburton. 

2  This  beautiful  lady  was  fourth  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Ferrers, 
who  had,  at  that  time,  a   house  at   Twickenham.    She   was   the 
"  Fanny,  blooming  fair,"  of  Lord   Chesterfield's  once  well-known 
ballad.    She  died  unmarried  at  Bath  in  1762. 


402  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


A  POEM. 

The  Third  Dialogue  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  fragment  follow- 
ing, which  was  found  by  Lord  Bolingbroke,  his  executor,  amongst 
the  sweepings  of  his  study.  It  is  a  mere  literary  curiosity. 

1740. 

O  WRETCHED  Britian  jealous  now  of  all, 
What  God,  what  mortal,  shall  prevent  they  fall  ? 
Turn,  turn  thine  eyes  from  wicked  men  in  place 
And  see  what  succour  from  the  patriot  race. 

C , l  his  own  proud  dupe,  thinks  monarchs  things 

Made  just  for  him  as  other  fools  for  tings; 
Controls,  decides,  insults  thee  ev'ry  hour 
And  antedates  the  hatred  due  to  pow'r 

Through  clouds  of  passion  P 's  views  are  clear, 

He  foams  a  patriot  to  subside  a  peer; 
Impatient  sees  his  country  bought  and  sold, 
And  damns  the  market  where  he  takes  no  gold. 

GRAVE,  righteous  S 2  jogs  on,  till,  past  belief, 

He  finds  himself  companion  with  a  thief. 

To  purge  and  let  the  blood,  with  fire  and  sword, 
Is  all  the  help  stern  S 3  would  afford. 

That  those  who  bind  and  rob  thee,  would  not  kill, 
Good  C 4  hopes,  and  candidly  sits  still. 

Of  Ch s  W-       6  who  speaks  at  all, 

No  more  than  of  Sir  Harry  or  Sir  Paul  ? 6 

Whose  names  once  up,  they  thought  it  was  not  wrong 

To  lie  in  bed,  but  sure  they  lay  too  long. 

G r,  C m,  B 1,7  pay  thee  due  regards, 

Unless  the  ladies  bid  them  mind  their  cards. 

with  wit  that  must 

And  C d,8  who  speaks  so  well,  and  writes, 

Whom  (saving  W.)  every  S.  harper  bites. 

1  Cbbham.  2  Sandys.  3  Shippen.  *  Carlisle. 

5  Sir  Charles  Hanbury  Williams. 

6  Sir  Henry  Oxenden  and  Sir  Paul  Methuen. 

7  Lords  Gower,  Cobham,  and  Bathurst,  s  ctiesterfleld. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  403 

must  needs 

Whose  wit  and  equally  provoke  one, 

Finds  thee,  at  best,  the  butt  to  crack  his  joke  on. 

As  for  the  rest,  each  winter  up  they  run, 
And  all  are  clear,  that  something  must  be  done. 

Then  urged  by  C — — t,1  or  by  C 1  stopp'd, 

Inflamed  by  P ,2  and  by  P dropp'd; 

They  follow  reverently  each  wondrous  wight, 
Amazed  that  one  can  read,  that  one  can  write: 
So  geese  to  gander  prone  obedience  keep, 
Hiss  if  he  hiss,  and  if  he  slumber,  sleep. 
Till  having  done  whate'er  was  fit  or  fine, 
Uttered  a  speech,  and  asked  their  friends  to  dine; 
Each  hurries  back  to  his  paternal  ground, 
Content  but  for  five  shillings  in  the  pound; 
Yearly  defeated,  yearly  hopes  they  give, 
And  all  agree,  Sir  Eobert  cannot  live. 

Rise,  rise,  great  W , 3  fated  to  appear, 

Spite  of  thyself,  a  glorious  minister ! 

Speak  the  loud  language  princes 

And  treat  with  half  the 

At  length  to  Britain  kind,  as  to  thy 

Espouse  the  nation,  you 

What  can  thy  H.  * 

Dress  in  Dutch 

Though  still  he  travels  on  no  bad  pretence, 
To  show 

Or  those  foul  copies  of  thy  face  and  tongue, 

Veracious  W 5  and  frontless  Young; 

Sagacious  Bub, 6  so  late  a  friend,  and  there 

So  late  a  foe,  yet  more  sagacious  H ? 7 

Hervey  and  Hervey's  school,  F ,  H— — y,  H n,8 

Yea,  moral  Ebor,  or  religious  Winton. 9 

How  !  what  can  O w,  what  can  D 10 

The  wisdom  of  the  one  and  other  chair, 

N "  laugh,  or  D 's 12  sneer, 

Or  thy  dread  truncheon,  M.'s13  mighty  peer? 

i  Lord  Carteret  2  Pultenoy.  3  Walpole.  4  Horace 

6  Winnington.  6  Doddington.          t  Hare,  Bishop  of  Chichester. 

8  Foxe,  Henley,  Hinton. 

» Blackburn,    Archbishop    of    York,    and    Hoadley,    Bishop    of 

Winchester.  »°  Onslow,  the  Speaker,  and  Earl  Delawar, 

u  Newcastle's.  12  Dorset's.  ia  Marlborough, 


404  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

What  help  from  J 's1  opiates  canst  thou  draw, 

Or  H k'ss  quibbles  voted  into  law  ? 

C.,3  that  Eoman  in  his  nose  alone, 
Who  hears  all  causes,  Britain,  but  thy  own, 
Or  those  proud  fools  whom  nature,  rank,  and  fate 
Made  fit  companions  for  the  sword  of  state. 

Can  the  light  packhorse,  or  the  heavy  steer, 
The  sowzing  prelate,  or  the  sweating  peer, 
Drag  out  with  all  its  dirt  and  all  its  weight, 
The  lumb'ring  carriage  of  thy  broken  state  ? 
Alas !  the  people  curse,  the  carman  swears, 
The  drivers  quarrel,  and  the  master  stares. 

The  plague  is  on  thee,  Britain,  and  who  tries 
To  save  thee  in  the  infectious  office  dies. 

The  first  firm  P -y4  soon  resign'd  his  breath, 

Brave  S w5  loved  thee,  and  was  lied  to  death. 

Good  M — m — t's6  fate  tore  P th7  from  thy  side, 

And  thy  last  sigh  was  heard  when  W m8  died. 

Thy  nobles  si — s,9  thy  se — s10  bought  with  gold, 
Thy  clergy  perjured,  thy  whole  people  sold. 

An  atheist  Q  a  ®'"'s  ad 

Blotch  thee  all  o'er,  and  sink  .... 

Alas !  on  one  alone  our  all  relies, 
Let  him  be  honest,  and  he  must  be  wise; 
Let  him  no  trifler  from  his  school, 

Nor  like  his still  a  ... 

Be  but  a  man !  unministered,  alone, 

And  free  at  once  the  senate  and  the  throne: 

Esteem  the  public  love  his  best  supply, 

A  (D's11  true  glory  his  integrity; 

Rich  ivithliis  ....  in  his  .  .  .  strong, 

Affect  no  conquest,  but  endure  no  wrong. 

Whatever  his  religion  or  his  blood, 

His  public  virtue  makes  his  title  good.12 

Europe's  just  balance  and  our  own  may  stand, 

And  one  man's  honesty  redeem  the  land. 

i  Jekyll.          2  Harkwick's.          3  Cummings,  Lord  Chief  Justice  of 
Common  Pleas.         •*  ?  Pulteney.          5  Scarborow.          «  Marchmont. 
7  Polwarlh.        *  Wyndham.9        Slaves.        1°  Senates.        "Kings. 
12  He  alludes  probably  to  Frederick,  Prince  o£  Wales.— BowUs* 


TRANSLATIONS. 


THE  FIRST  BOOK  OP 
STATIUS,1    HIS    THEBAIS. 

TRANSLATED   IN   THE   YEAH    1703. 

ARGUMENT. 

(Edipus  King  of  Thebes  having  by  mistake  slain  his  father  Laius, 
and  married  his  mother  Jocasta,  put  out  his  own  eyes,  and 
resigned  the  realm  to  his  sons  Eteocles  and  Polynices.  Being 
neglected  by  them,  he  makes  his  prayer  to  the  fury  Tisiphone, 
to  sow  debate  betwixt  the  brothers.  They  agree  at  last  to  reign 
singly,  each  a  year  by  turns,  and  the  first  lot  is  obtained  by 
Eteocles.  Jupiter,  in  a  couucil  of  the  gods,  declares  his  resolu 
tion  of  punishing  the  Thebans,  and  Argives  also,  by  means  of  a 
marriage  betwixt  Polynices  and  one  of  the  daughters  of  Adrastus, 
King  of  Argus.  Juno  opposes,  but  to  no  effect ;  and  Mercury  is 
sent  on  a  message  to  the  shades,  to  the  ghost  of  Laius,  who  is  to 
appear  to  Eteocles,  and  provoke  him  to  break  the  agreement. 
Polynices,  in  the  meantime,  departs  from  Thebes  by  night,  is 
overtaken  by  a  storm,  and  arrives  at  Argos;  where  he  meets 
with  Tydeus,  who  had  fled  from  Calydon,  having  killed  his 
brother.  Adrastus  entertains  them,  having  received  an  oracle 
from  Apollo  that  his  daughter  should  be  married  to  a  boar  and 
a  lion,  which  he  understands  to  be  meant  of  these  strangers  by 
whom  the  hides  of  those  beasts  were  worn,  and  who  arrived 
at  the  time  when  he  kept  an  annual  feast  in  honour  of  that  god. 
The  rise  of  this  solemnity  he  relates  to  his  guests,  the  loves 
of  Phoebus  and  Psamathe,  and  the  story  of  Choroebus.  He 
inquires,  and  is  made  acquainted  with  their  descent  and 
quality.  The  sacrifice  is  renewed,  and  the  book  concludes  with 
a  Hymn  to  Apollo. 

The  translator  hopes  he  needs  not  apologise  for  his  choice  of  this 
piece,  which  was  made  almost  in  his  childhood.  But  finding 
the  version  better  than  he  expected,  he  gave  it  some  correction 
a  few  years  afterwards. 

FRATERNAL  rage,  the  guilty  Thebes  alarms, 
Th'  alternate  reigii  destroyed  by  impious  arms 
Demand  our  song  ;  a  sacred  fury  fires 
My  ravished  breast,  and  all  the  muse  inspires. 

i  Publius  Papinius  Statins  was  born  at  Naples,  61,  died  96,  a 
Roman  poet  of  some  note.  He  wrote  the  "Thebais,"  "  Achilleis," 
and  "  Sylvse."  He  was  a  favourite  of  Domitian  and  flatters  the 
tyrant  in  the  following  poem.  The  poet  was  twelve  years  composing 
the  "  Thebais  "  and  though  the  style  is  often  inelegant,  yet  the  poem 
is  highly  valuable  for  the  information  which  it  contains  respecting 
the  mythology  and  the  less  commonly  known  legends  of  ancient 
times. 


406  TRANSLATIONS. 

O  goddess !  say,  shall  I  deduce  my  rhymes 

From  the  dire  nation  in  its  early  times, 

Europa's  rape,  Agenor's  stern  decree,1 

And  Cadmus  searching  round  the  spacious  sea? 

How  with  the  serpent's  teeth  he  sowed  the  soil, 

And  reaped  an  iron  harvest  of  his  toil ; 

Or  how  from  joining  stones  the  city  sprung, 

While  to  his  harp  divine  Amphion  sung  ? 2 

Or  shall  I  Juno's  hate  to  Thebes  resound, 

Whose  fatal  rage  th'  unhappy  Monarch 3  found  ? 

The  sire  against  the  son  his  arrows  drew, 

O'er  the  wide  fields  the  furious  mother  Hew, 

And  while  her  arms  a  second  hope  contain, 

Sprung  from  the  rocks,  and  plunged  into  the  main. 

But  waive  whate'er  to  Cadmus  may  belong, 
And  fix,  O  muse !  the  barrier  of  thy  song 
At  (Edipus — from  his  disasters  trace 
The  long  confusions  of  his  guilty  race  ; 
Nor  yet  attempt  to  strefcch  thy  bolder  wing, 
And  mighty  Caesar's4  conquering  eagles  sing ; 
How  twice'  he  tamed  proud  Ister's  rapid  flood, 
While  Dacian  mountains  streamed  with  barbarous 
blood  ; 

1  Jupiter  under  the  form  of  a  bull  having  carried  off  Europa  the 
daughter  of  Ageuor,  king  of  Phoenicia,  her  father  ordered  his  son 
Cadmus  to  go  in  search  of  his  sister  and  not  to  return  without  her. 
Cadmus  sought  long  and  far  for  her  in  vain,  and  not  daring  to 
go  back  without  her,  he  consulted  the  oracle  of  Apollo  to  know 
where  he  should  dwell.    The  oracle  bade   him    follow  a  cow  in 
the  field,  and  where  she  stopped  build  a  city  and  call  the  country 
Boeotia.    The  cow  led  him  to  the  pla*  .  of  Panope,  where  ultimately 
he  built  Thebes.    Wishing  to  offer  a  sacrifice  to  Jupiter  he  sent  his 
Syrian  followers  for  water  to  a  fountain  issuing  from  a  cave.    Here 
a  horrid  serpent  lurkc    (sacred  to  Mars)  which  slew  all  the  men  by 
its  breath,  its  fangs,  or  its  folds.    Cadmus  attacked  and  destroyed 
the  monster.    Pallas    descending,  then   ordered    him    to   sow  the 
dragon's   teeth    in    the    earth.      He    obeyed;     the   dragon's    teeth 
produced  a  crop  of  armed  men,  who  instantly  fought  with  one 
another;  till  all  were  killed  except  five  who  Joined  Cadmus  and 
assisted  him  to  build  the  city.    Such  was  the  fabled  origin  of  Thebes 
and  its  people,  see    "Ovid,"  Book  III.    Cadmus   brought  letters 
to  Greece  from  Phoenicia. 

2  Another  legend  averred  that  Amphion  built  Thebes ;  the  walls 
rising  to  the  music  of  his  lyre. 

^  Athamas,  king  of  Thebes.  Juno  sent  Tisiphone,  one  of  the 
Furies,  to  the  house  of  Athamas  out  of  hatred  to  Ino.  The  Fury 
inflamed  the  king  with  a  sudden  frenzy.  He  took  Ino  to  be  a 
lioness  and  her  sons  whelps,  and  killed  Learchus  by  dashing 
him  against  a  wall.  Ino  threw  herself  with  her  other  son  Melicerta 
into  the  sea.  The  gods  pitied  her  fate,  and  Neptune  made  her  a  sea 
deity  under  the  name  of  Leucothoe.  Melicerta  became  a  sea  god  by 
the  name  of  Palcemon. 

*  A  compliment  to  Domitian. 


TRANSLATIONS.  407 

Twice  taught  the  Rhine  beneath  his  laws  to  roll, 

And  stretched  his  empire  to  the  frozen  pole  ; 

Or,  long  before,  with  early  valor  strove 

In  youthful  arms  t'  assert  the  cause  of  Jove. 

And  thou,  great  heir  of  all  thy  father's  fame, 

Increase  of  glory  to  the  Latian  name ! 

Oh  bless  thy  Rome  with  an  eternal  reign, 

Nor  let  desiring  worlds  entreat  in  vain. 

What  though  the  stars  contract  their  heav'nly  space, 

And  crowd  their  shining  lamps  to  yield  thee  place  ; 

Though  all  the  skies,  ambitious  of  thy  sway, 

Conspire  to  court  tliee  from  our  world  away  ; 

Though  Phoebus  longs  to  mix  his  rays  with  thine, 

And  in  thy  glories  more  serenely  shine  ; 

Though  Jove  himself  no  less  content  would  be 

To  part  his  throne,  and  share  h. ,  heaven  with  thee  ; 

Yet  stay,  great  Csesar !  and  vouchsafe  to  reign 

O'er  the  wide  earth,  and  o'er  the  wat'ry  main  ; 

Resign  to  Jove  his  empire  of  the  skies, 

And  people  heav'n  with  Roman  deities. 

The  time  will  come  when  a  diviner  flame 
Shah1  warm  my  breast  to  sing  of  Caesar's  fame: 
Meanwhile  permit  that  my  preluding  muse 
In  Theban  wars  an  humbler  theme  may  choose: 
Of  furious  hate  surviving  death  she  sings, 
A  fatal  throne  to  two  contending  kings, 
And  fun'ral  flames  that,  parting  wide  in  air,1 
Express  the  discord  of  the  souls  they  bear: 
Of  towns  dispeopled,  and  the  wand'ring  ghosts 
Of  kings  unburied  in  the  wasted  coasts : 
When  Dirce's  fountain  blushed  with  Grecian  blood, 
And  Thetis,  near  Ismenos'  swelling  flood, 
With  dread  beheld  the  rolling  surges  sweep 
In  heaps  his  slaughtered  sons  into  the  deep. 

What  hero,  Clio !  wilt  thou  first  relate  ? 
The  rage  of  Tydeus,2  or  the  prophet's3  fate  ? 

1  Eteocles  and  Polynices  fell  slain  by  each  other.  They  were  first 
placed  on  the  same  funeral  pile :  but  the  flames  rose  apart  as  they 
mounted  up  as  if  even  death  was  unwilling  to  unite  the  fratricides. 
Polynices  was  therefore  left  unburied  till  Antigone  performed  his 
funeral  rites. 

a  One  of  the  seven  chiefs  of  the  army  of  Adrastus,  king  of  Argos, 
during  the  Theban  war.  He  was  famous  for  savage  barbarity. 

3  The  soothsayer  Amphiaraus,  the  brother-in-law  of  Adrastus,  who 
foretold  the  destruction  of  the  Argive  army  before  Thebes,  but  oil 
the  decision  of  his  wife  Eriphyle,  consented  to  accompany  the  expo* 
llitioUj  and  was  swallowed  up  in  the  earth. 


408  TRANSLATIONS. 

Or  how,  with  hills  of  slain  on  every  side, 
Hippomedon1  repelled  the  hostile  tide  ? 
Or  how  the  youth,2  with  every  grace  adorned 
Untimely  fell  to  be  for  ever  mourned  ? 
Then  to  fierce  Capaneus  thy  verse  extend, 
And  sing  with  horror  his  prodigious  end.3 

Now  wretch-  "!  QEdipus,  deprived  of  sight, 
Led  a  long  death  in  everlasting  night ; 
But  while  he  dwells  where  not  a  cheerful  ray 
Can  pierce  the  darkness,  and  abhors  the  day ; 
The  clear  reflecting  mind  presents  its  sin 
In  frightful  views,  and  makes  it  day  within: 
Returning  thoughts  in  endless  circles  roll, 
And  thousand  furies  haunt  his  guilty  soul: 
The  wretch  then  lifted  to  th'  unpitying  skies 
Those  empty  orbs  from  whence  he  tore  his  eyes, 
Whose  wounds,   yet  fresh,  with  bloody  hands  he 

strook, 
While  from  his  breast  these  dreadful  accents  broke. 

"  Ye  gods !  that  o'er  the  gloomy  regions  reign, 
Wliere  guilty  spirits  feel  eternal  pain  ; 
Thou,  sable  Styx !  whose  livid  streams  are  rolled 
Through  dreary  coasts,  which  I  though  blind  behold; 
Tisiphone ! 4  that  oft  has  heard  my  prayer, 
Assist,  if  (Edipus  deserve  thy  care. 
If  you  received  me  from  Jocasta's  womb, 
And  nursed  the  hope  of  mischief  yet  to  come , 
If,  leaving  Polybus,5 1  took  my  way 
To  Cirrha's6  temple,  on  that  fatal  day, 
When  by  the  son  the  trembling  father  died, 
Where  the  three  roads  the  Phocian  fields  divide  ; . 
If  I  the  Sphinx's 7  riddles  durst  explain, 

1  Another  of  the  "  Seven  "  chiefs. 

2  Parthenopgeus.— Pope. 

3  He  was  consumed  by  lightning  while  scaling  the  walls  of  Thebes. 

4  One  of  the  Furies  who  avenged  crimes. — See  Argument. 

5  The  king  of  Corinth,  who  had  adopted  (Edipus  when  he  was 
brought  to  him  by  the  shepherd.    Laius,  king  of  Thebes,  warned 
that  the  babe  would  kill  him,  had  it  exposed  on  mount  Cithasron. 
When  (Edipus  grew  up  he  also  received  a  warning  from  the  oracle  of 
the    crime    he    would    commit,    and    acting    on    the    prophecy   of 
those  fiends  who  "paltered  to  him  in  a  double  sense, ""he  fled  from 
Corinth  believing  that    his    adopted    parents  were  his  real  ones, 
and  that  by  flight  he  might  escape  his  doom.    The  terrible  Destiny 
of  the  Greeks  was,  however,  too  strong  for  him.    Near  Thebes  he 
met  his  real  father  Laius  and  slew  him  in  a  quarrel. 

e  The  temple  of  Delphi,  where  CEdipus  received  the  fatal  oracle. 

7  The  story  of  the  Sphinx  is  too  well  known  to  need  repetition. 
The  Thebans  had  promised  the  crown  and  widow  of  Laius  to 
the  man  who  should  solve  her  riddle,  and  by  doing  so  destroy  her, 
Thus  CEdipus  married  his  mother, 


TRANSLATIONS.  409 

Tauglit  by  thyself  to  win  the  promised  reign; 

If  wretched  I,  by  baleful  furies  led, 

With  monstrous  mixtuie  stained  my  mother's  bed; 

For  hell  and  thee  begot  an  impious  brood, 

And  with  full  lust  those  horrid  joys  renewed; 

Then,  self-condemned,  to  shades  of  endless  night, 

Forced  from  these  orbs  the  bleeding  balls  of  sight; 

Oh  hear !  and  aid  the  vengeance  I  require, 

If  worthy  thee,  and  what  thou  mightest  inspire. 

My  sons  their  old,  unhappy  sire  despise, 

Spoiled  of  his  kingdom,  and  deprived  of  eyes; 

Guideless  I  wander,  unregarded  mourn, 

While  these  exalt  their  scepters  o'er  my  urn; 

These  sons,  ye  gods !  who  with  flagitious  pride, 

Insult  my  darkness,  and  my  groans  deride. 

Art 'thou  a  father,  unregarding  Jove ! 

And  sleeps  thy  thunder  in  the  realms  above  ? 

Thou  Fury !  then  same  lasting  curse  entail, 

WTiich  o'er  their  children's  children  shah1  prevail; 

Place  on  their  heads  that  crown  distained  with  gore, 

Which  these  dire  hands  from  my  slain  father  tore; 

Go !  and  a  parent's  heavy  curses  bear; 

Break  all  the  bonds  of  nature,  and  prepare 

Their  kindred  souls  to  mutual  hate  and  war. 

Give  them  to  dare,  what  I  might  wish  to  see, 

Blind  as  I  am,  some  glorious  villany ! 

Soon  shalt  thou  find,  if  thou  but  arm  their  hands, 

Their  ready  guilt  preventing1  thy  commands: 

Couldst  thou  some  great  proportioned  mischief  frame, 

They'd  prove  the  father  from  whose  loins  they  came.'J 

The  Fury  heard,  while  on  Cocytus'  brink2 
Her  snakes  untied,  sulphureous  waters  drink; 
But  at  the  summons  rolled  her  eyes  around, 
And  snatched  the  starting  serpents  from  the  ground. 
Not  half  so  swiftly  shoots  along  in  air, 
The  gliding  lightning,  or  descending  star. 
Through  crowds  of  airy  shades  she  winged  her  flight, 
And  dark  dominions  of  the  silent  night; 
Swift  as  she  passed,  the  flitting  ghosts  withdrew, 
And  the  pale  spectres  trembled  at  her  view: 


1  Preventing  in  the  sense  of  "going  before,"  as  in  tbe  collect-* 
'  Prevent  us,  O  Lord,  &c." 

2  A  river  of  Tartarus, 


410  TRANSLATIONS. 

To  th*  iron  gates  of  Tsenarus1  she  flies, 

There  spreads  her  dusky  pinions  to  the  skies. 

The  day  beheld,  and  sick'ning  at  the  sight, 

Veiled  her  fair  glories  in  the  shades  of  night. 

Affrighted  Atlas,  on  the  distant  shore, 

Trembled,  and  shook  the  heavens  and  gods  he  bora 

Now  from  beneath  Malea's  airy  height 

Aloft  she  sprung,  and  steered  to  Thebes  her  flight; 

With  eager  speed  the  well-known  journey2  took, 

Nor  here  regrets  the  hell  she  late  forsook. 

A  hundred  snakes  her  gloomy  visage  shade, 

A  hundred  serpents  guard  her  horrid  head, 

In  her  sunk  eyeballs  dreadful  meteors  glow: 

Such  rays  from  Phoebe's  bloody  circle  flow,        [high 

When  labouring  with  strong  charms,  she  stoops  from 

A  fiery  gleam,  and  reddens  all  the  sky.  [came 

Blood  stained  her  cheeks,  and  from  her  mouth  there 

Blue  steaming  poisons,  and  a  length  of  flame. 

From  ev'ry  blast  of  her  contagious  breath, 

Famine  and  drought  proceed,  and  plagues  and  death. 

A  robe  obscene  was  o'er  her  shoulders  thrown, 

A  dress  by  fates  and  furies  wrorn  alone. 

She  tossed  her  meagre  arms;  her  better  hand 

In  waving  circles  whirled  a  funeral  brand: 

A  serpent  from  her  left  was  seen  to  rear 

His  flaming  crest,  and  lash  the  yielding  air. 

But  when  the  Fury  took  her  stand  on  high, 
Where  vast  Cithseron's  top  salutes  the  sky, 
A  hiss  from  all  the  snaky  tire  went  round: 
The  dreadful  signal  all  the  rocks  rebound, 
And  through  th'  Achaian  cities  send  the  sound, 
(Ete,  with  high  Parnassus,  heard  the  voice; 
Eurotas'  banks  remurmured  to  the  noise; 
Again  Leucothoe  shook  at  these  alarms, 
And  pressed  Palsemon  closer  in  her  arms. 
Headlong  from  thence  the  glowing  Fury  springs, 
And  o'er  the  Theban  palace  spreads  her  wings, 
Once  more  invades  the  guilty  dome,  and  shrouds 
Its  bright  pavilions  in  a  vale  of  clouds. 

1  Teenarus— now  Matapan,  the  most  southern  point  of  Europe. 
There  was  at  this  piace  a  cavern  from  whence  proceeded  a  black; 
and  unwholesome  vapour.    Here  was  supposed  to  be  one  of  the 
entrances  to  Tartarus— the  heathen  Hell, 

2  See  previous  note,     ...--- 


TRANSLATIONS.  411 

Straight  with  the  rage  of  all  their  race  possessed, 
Stung  to  the  soul,  the  brothers  stait  from  rest, 
And  all  their  furies  wake  within  their  breast. 
Their  tortured  niinds  repining  envy  tears, 
And  hate,  engendered  by  suspicious  fears; 
And  sacred  thirst  of  sway;  and  all  the  ties 
Of  nature  broke ;  and  royal  perjuries; 
And  impotent  desire  to  reign  alone, 
That  scorns  the  dull  reversion  of  a  throne; 
Each  would  the  sweets  of  sov'reign  rule  devour 
"While  discord  waits  upon  divided  pow'r. 

As  stubborn  steers  Tby  brawny  ploughmen  broke, 
And  joined  reluctant  to  the  galling  yoke, 
Alike  disdain  with  servile  necks  to  bear 
Th'  unwonted  weight,  or  drag  the  crooked  share, 
But  rend  the  reins,  and  bound  a  different  way, 
And  all  the  furrows  in  confusion  lay: 
Such  was  the  discord  of  the  royal  pair, 
Whom  fury  drove  precipitate  to  war. 
In  vain  the  chiefs  contrived  a  specious  way, 
To  govern  Thebes  by  their  alternate  sway: 
Unjust  decree !  while  this  enjoys  the  state, 
That  mourns  in  exile  his  unequal  fate, 
And  the  short  monarch  of  a  hasty  year 
Foresees  with  anguish  his  returning  heir. 
Thus  did  the  league  their  impious  arms  restrain, 
But  scarce  subsisted  to  the  second  reign. 

Yet  then,  no  proud  aspiring  piles  were  raised, 
No  fretted  roofs  with  polished  metals  blazed; 
No  laboured  columns,  in  long  order  placed, 
No  Grecian  stone  the  pompous  arches  graced; 
No  nightly  bands  in  glitt'ring  armour  wait 
Before  the  sleepless  tyrant's  guarded  gate; 
No  chargers l  then  were  wrought  in  burnished  gold, 
Nor  silver  vases  took  the  forming  mould; 
Nor  gems  on  bowls  embossed  were  seen  to  shine, 
Blaze  on  the  brims,  and  sparkle  in  the  wine. 
Say,  wretched  rivals !  what  provokes  your  rage  ? 
Say,  to  what  end  your  impious  arms  engage  ? 
Not  all  bright  Phoebus  views  in  early  morn, 
Or  when  his  ev'ning  beams  the  west  adorn, 

i  Dishes—they  gave  Heredias'8  daughter  St,  John's  head  in  a 
snarg'er. 


412  TRANSLATIONS. 

When  the  south  glows  with  his  meridian  ray, 
And  the  cold  north  receives  a  fainter  day; 
For. crimes  like  these,  not  all  those  realms  suffice, 
Were  all  those  realms  the  guilty  victor's  prize ! 

But  Fortune  now  (the  lots  of  empire  thrown) 
Decrees  to  proud  Eteocles  the  crown: 
What  joys,  oh  tyrant!  swelled  thy  soul  that  day, 
When  all  were  slaves  thou  couldst  around  survey, 
Pleased  to  behold  unbounded  power  thy  own, 
And  singly  fill  a  feared  and  envied  throne ! 

But  the  vile  vulgar,  ever  discontent, 
Their  growing  fears  in  secret  murmurs  vent; 
Still  prone  to  change,  though  still  the  slaves  of  state, 
And  sure  the  monarch  whom  they  have,  to  hate; 
New  lords  they  madly  make,  then  tamely  bear, 
And  softly  curse  the  tyrants  whom  they  fear. 
And  one  of  those  who  groan  beneath  the  sway 
Of  kings  imposed  and  grudgingly  obey, 
(Whom  envy  to  the  great,  and  vulgar  spite 
With  scandal  armed,  th'  ignoble  minds  delight,) 
Exclaimed — "  O  Thebes !  for  thee  what  fates  remain, 
What  woes  attend  this  inauspicious  reign  ? 
Must  we,  alas !  our  doubtful  necks  prepare, 
Each  haughty  master's  yoke  by  turns  to  bear, 
And  still  to  change  whom  changed  we  still  must  fear  ? 
These  now  control  a  wretched  people's  fate, 
These  can  divide  and  these  reverse  the  state: 
Ev'n  fortune  rules  no  more : — O  servile  land, 
Where  exiled  tyrants  still  by  turns  command! 
Thou  sire  of  gods  and  men,  imperial  Jove  1 
Is  this  the  eternal  doom  decreed  above  ? 
On  thy  own  offspring  hast  thou  fixed  this  fate, 
From  the  first  birth  of  our  unhappy  state; 
When  banished  Cadmus  wand'ring  o'er  the  main, 
For  lost  Europa  searched  the  world  in  vain. 
And  fated  in  Boeotian  fields  to  found 
A  rising  empire  on  a  foreign  ground, 
First  raised  our  walls  on  that  ill-omened  plain, 
Where  earth-born  brothers  were  by  brothers  slain  ?  * 
What  lofty  looks  the  unrivalled  monarch  bears  ? 
How  all  the  tyrant  in  his  face  appears ! 
What  sullen  fury  clouds  his  scornful  brow ! 
Gods !  how  his  eyes  with  threat'ning  ardour  glow ! 
» See  previous  note, 


TRANSLATIONS. 

Can  this  imperious  lord  forget  to  reign, 
Quit  all  his  state,  descend,  and  serve  again  ? 
Yet,  who,  before,  more  popularly  bowed, 
Who  more  propitious  to  the  suppliant  crowd? 
Patient  of  right,  familiar  in  the  throne  ? 
What  wonder  then  ?  he  was  not  then  alone. 
Oh  wretched  we,  a  vile,  submissive  train, 
Fortune's  tame  fools,  and  slaves  in  every  reign ! 

As  when  two  winds  with  rival  force  contend, 
This  way  and  that,  the  wav'ring  sails  they  bend, 
While  freezing  Boreas,  and  black  Eurus  blow, 
Now  here,  now  there,  the  reeling  vessel  throw: 
Thus  on  each  side,  alas !  our  tottering  state 
Feels  all  the  fury  of  resistless  fate, 
And  doubtful  still,  and  still,  distracted  stands, 
While  that  prince  threatens,  and  while  this  commands. 

And  now  th'  almighty  Father  of  the  gods 
Convenes  a  council  in  the  blest  abodes: 
Far  in  the  bright  recesses  of  the  skies, 
High  o'er  the  rolling  heav'ns,  a  mansion  lies, 
Whence,  far  below,  the  gods  at  once  survey 
The  realms  of  rising  and  declining  day, 
And  all  the  extended  space  of  earth,  and  air,  and  sea. 
Full  in  the  midst,  and  on  a  starry  throne, 
The  majesty  of  heav'n  superior  shone; 
Serene  he  looked,  and  gave  an  awful  nod, 
And  all  the  trembling  spheres  confessed  the  god. 
At  Jove's  assent,  the  deities  around 
In  solemn  state  the  consistory  crowned. 
Next  a  long  order  of  inferior  pow'rs 
Ascend  from  hills,  and  plains,  and  shady  bow'rs; 
Those  from  whose  urns  the  rolling  rivers  flow, 
And  those  that  give  the  wand'ring  winds  to  blow: 
Here  all  their  rage,  and  ev'n  their  murmurs  cease, 
And  sacred  silence  reigns,  and  universal  peace. 
A  shining  synod  of  majestic  gods 
Gilds  with  new  lustre  the  divine  abodes; 
Heav'n  seems  improved  with  a  superior  ray, 
And  the  bright  arch  reflects  a  double  day. 
The  monarch  then  his  solemn  silence  broke, 
The  still  creation  listened  while  he  spoke, 
Each  sacred  accent  bears  eternal  weight, 
And  each  irrevocable  word  is  fate. 

"How  long  shall  man  the  wrath  of  heav'n  defy, 


414  TRANSLATIONS, 

And  force  unwilling  vengeance  from  the  sky ! 

Oh  race  confederate  into  crimes,  that  prove 

Triumphant  o'er  the  eluded  rage  of  Jove ! 

This  wearied  arm  can  scarce  the  bolt  sustain, 

And  unregarded  thunder  rolls  in  vain: 

Th'  oe'rlaboured  Cyclop  from  his  task  retires; 

Th'  JEolian  forge  exhausted  of  its  fires. 

For  this,  I  suffered  Phoebus'  steeds  to  stray, 

And  the  mad  ruler1  to  misguide  the  day; 

When  the  wide  earth  to  heaps  of  ashes  turned 

And  heav'n  itself  the  wand'ring  chariot  burned. 

For  this,  my  brother  of  the  watery  reign 2 

Released  th'  impetuous  sluices  of  the  main: 

But  flames  consumed,  and  billows  raged  in  vain. 

Two  races  now,  allied  to  Jove,  offend; 

To  punish  these,  see  Jove  himself  descend. 

The  Theban  Kings  their  line  from  Cadmus  trace, 

From  godlike  Perseus  those  of  Argive  race. 

Unhappy  Cadmus'  fate  who  does  not  know  ? 

And  the  long  series  of  succeeding  woe  ? 

How  oft  the  furies,  from  the  deeps  of  night, 

Arose,  and  mixed  with  men  in  mortal  fight: 

Th'  exulting  mother,  stained  with  filial  blood;5 

The  savage  hunter,  and  the  haunted  wood:  * 

The  direful  banquet 5  why  should  I  proclaim, 

And  crimes  that  grieve  the  trembling  gods  to  name  et 

Ere  I  recount  the  sins  of  these  profane, 

1  Phaeton,  who  having  asked  his  father  Apollo  to  let  him  drive  the 
Chariot  of  the  Sun,  set  the  world  on  fire. 

2  Neptune;  the  allusion  is  to  Deucalion's  flood. 

3  Agave,  the  mother  of  Pentheus.    He  was   the   avowed  enemy 
of  Bacchus,  and  venturing  to  intrude  on  the  orgies  of  the  god, 
his  mother  and  the  other  Bacchanals  mistaking  him  in  their  frenzy 
lor  a  wild  boar,  tore  him  to  pieces. 

"His  mother  sternly  viewed  him  where  he  stood, 

And  kindled  into  madness  as  she  viewed, 

Her  leafy  jav'lin  at  her  son  she  cast, 

And  cried,  '  the  boar  that  lays  our  country  waste.' " 

A-ddison's  "  Translations  from  Ovid,"  Met.  III.  Fab.  7,  8,  9. 

4  Orion,  born  in  Boeotia,  and  slain  in  the  wood  by  Diana  whom  he 
had  insulted. 

6  Tantalus's  banquet  given  to  the  gods,  at  which,  to  test  their 
divinity,  he  served  up  the  limbs  of  his  son  Pelops.  The  deities  re- 
fused to  eat,  except  Ceres,  who,  absent  and  sorrowful  for  the  loss  of 
her  daughter  Proserpine,  eat  a  portion  of  the  shoulder  of  Pelops. 
Jupiter  restored  him  to  life,  substituting  an  ivory  shoulder  for  that 
eaten  by  Ceres.  Pelops  conquered  all  that  part  of  Greece,  afterwards 
called  from  his  name  Peloponnesus :  in  which  Argos  stood. 

Or  it  may  mean  the  banquet  of  Atreus  and  Thyestes.  See  note  at 
page  418, 


TRANSLATIONS.  415 

The  sun  would  sink  into  the  western  main, 
And  rising  gild  the  radiant  east  again. 
Have  we  not  seen  (the  blood  of  Laius  shed) 
The  nmrd'ring  son  ascend  his  parent's  bed, 
Through  violated  nature  force  his  way, 
And  stain  the  sacred  womb  where  once  he  lay? 
Yet  now  in  darkness  and  despair  he  groans, 
And  for  the  crimes  of  guilty  fate  atones; 
His  sons  with  scorn  their  eyeless  father  view, 
Insult  his  wounds,  and  make  them  bleed  anew. 
.  Thy  curse,  oh  (Edipus,  just  heav'n  alarms, 
And  sets  th'  avenging  thunderer  in  arms. 
I  from  the  root  thy  guilty  race  will  tear, 
And  give  the  nations  to  the  waste  of  war. 
Adrastus1  soon,  with  gods  averse,  shall  join, 
In  dire  alliance  with  the  Theban  line; 
Hence  strife  shall  rise,  and  mortal  war  succeed; 
The  guilty  realms  of  Tantalus  shall  bleed; 
Fixed  is  their  doom;  this  all-rememb'ring  breast 
Yet  harbours  vengeance  for  the  tyrant's  feast." 
He  said;  and  thus  the  queen  of  heav'n  returned; 
(With  sudden  grief  her  labouring  bosom  burned) ; 
"Must  I,  whose  cares  Phoroneus'  towers2  defend, 
Must  I,  oh  Jove,  in  bloody  wars  contend  > 
Thou  know'st  those  regions  my  protection  claim, 
Glorious  in  arms,  in  riches,  and  in  fame; 
Though  there  the  fair  Egyptian  heifer3  fed, 
And  there  deluded  Argus4  slept  and  bled; 
Though  there  the  brazen  tower  was  stormed  of  old,k 
When  Jove  descended  in  almighty  gold: 
Yet  I  can  pardon  those  obscurer  rapes, 
Those  bashful  crimes  disguised  in  borrowed  shapes; 
But  Thebes,  where  sliming  in  celestial  charms 
Thou  earnest  triumphant  to  a  mortal's  arms,6 

1  King  of  Argos. 

2  Argos,  so  named  from   its   second   king  Phoroneus.    By  some 
he  was  said  to  have  founded  Argos;    though  generally  Inachus 
is  called  its  founder. 

3  lo — changed  into  a  heifer  by  Jupiter. 

4  Argus  set  to  watch  lo,  was  lulled  to  sleep  by  Mercury  and  killed. 

5  The   tower  in    which   Danae   was    imprisoned    by   her   father 
Acrisius,  King  of  Argos,  into  which  Jupiter  descended  in  a  shower 
of  gold.    She  was  the  mother  of  Perseus. 

6  Semele,  another  daughter  of  Cadmus,  who  forced  Jupiter  on  his 
oath  by  the  Styx,  to  show  himself  to  her  in  all  his  majesty,  and  was 
consumed  by  his  lightnings.    She  was  the  mother  of  Bacchus. 


416  TRANSLATIONS. 

When  all  my  glories  o'er  her  limbs  were  spread, 

And  blazing  lightnings  danced  around  her  bed; 

Cursed  Thebes  the  vengeance  it  deserves,  may  prove— 

Ah,  why  should  Argos  feel  the  rage  of  Jove  ? 

Yet  since  thou  wilt  thy  sister-queen  control, 

Since  still  the  lust  of  discord  fires  thy  soul, 

Go,  rase  my  Samos,  let  Mycenae  fall, 

And  level  with  the  dust  the  Spartan  wall; 

No  more  let  mortals  Juno's  power  invoke, 

Her  fanes  no  more  with  eastern  incense  smoke, 

Nor  victims  sink  beneath  the  sacred  stroke; 

But  to  your  Isis  all  my  rights  transfer, 

Let  altars  blaze  and  temples  smoke  for  her; 

For  her,  through  Egypt's  fruitful  clime  renowned, 

Let  weeping  Nilus  hear  the  timbrel  sound. 

But  if  thou  must  reform  the  stubborn  times, 

Avenging  on  the  sons  the  father's  crimes, 

And  from  the  long  records  of  distant  age 

Derive  incitements  to  renew  thy  rage; 

Say,  from  what  period  then  has  Jove  designed 

To  date  his  vengeance,  to  what  bounds  confined? 

Begin  from  thence,1  where  first  Alpheus  hides 

His  wandering  stream,  and  through  the  briny  tides 

Unmixed  to  his  Sicilian  river  glides. 

Thy  own  Arcadians  there  the  thunder  claim, 

Whose  impious  rites2  disgrace  thy  mighty  name, 

Who  raise  thy  temples  where  the  chariot  stood 

Of  fierce  QEnomaus,  defiled  with  blood; 

Where  once  his  steeds  their  savage  banquet  found, 

And  human  bones  yet  whiten  all  the  ground.3 

Say,  can  those  honours  please:  and  canst  thou  love 

Presumptuous  Crete  that  boasts  the  tomb  of  Jove  ? 

And  shall  not  Tantalus's  kingdom  share4 

1  Arcadia  where  the  river  Alpheus  (now  Orfea  or  Rofea)  rises.    The 
god  of  this  river  was  fabled  to  have  fallen  in  love  with  the  nymph 
Arethusa  and  pursued  her  till  she  was  changed  into  a  fountain 
by  Diana.    Alpheus  .was    said    to   have    followed    her    under   the 
sea  from  Peloponnesus  to  Ortygia,  near  Syracuse,  where  their  waters 
join.    Our  readers  doubtless  remember  Shelley's  exquisite  poem, 
Arethusa. 

2  They  offered  human  sacrifices. 

3  (Enomaus  was  King  of  Pisa  in  Elis.    He  had  learned  from  an 
oracle  that  his  son-in-law  would  kill  him.    Therefore,  as  he  had  the 
swiftest  horses  in  the  world,  he  decreed  that  he  only  should  marry 
his  daughter  Hippodamia  who  could  beat  him  in  a  chariot  race.    If 
the  suitor  failed,  the  forfeit  was  his  life.    Pelops,  the  son  of  Tantalus, 
by  a  stratagem  won  the  race,  and  became  king  of  Pisa. 

*  «« Tantalus's  kingdom  "  because  lie  was  the  father  of  Pelops, 


TRANSLATIONS.  417 

Thy  wife  and  sister's  tutelary  care? 
Reverse,  O  Jove,  thy  too  severe  decreee, 
Nor  doom  to  war  a  race  derived  from  thee; 
On  impious  realms  and  barb'rous  kings  impose 
Thy  plagues,  and  curse  'em  with  such  sons l  as  those." 

Thus,  in  reproach  and  pray'r,  the  queen  expressed 
The  rage  and  grief  contending  in  her  breast; 
Unmoved  remained  the  ruler  of  the  sky, 
And  from  his  throne  returned  this  stern  reply: 
"  'Twas  thus  I  deemed  thy  haughty  soul  would  bear 
The  dire,  though  just,  revenge  which  I  prepare 
Against  a  nation,  thy  peculiar  care: 
No  less  Dione 2  might  for  Thebes  contend, 
Nor  Bacchus  less  his  native  town  defend,3 
Yet  these  in  silence  see  the  fates  fulfil 
Their  work,  and  reverence  our  superior  will. 
For  by  the  black  infernal  Styx  I  swear 
(That  dreadful  oath  which  binds  the  thunderer) 
JTis  fixed;  th'  irrevocable  dtfom  of  Jove; 
No  force  can  bend  me,  no  persuasion  move. 
Haste,  then,  Cyllenius,4  through  the  liquid  air; 
Go  mount  the  winds,  and  to  the  shades  repair; 
Bid  hell's  black  monarch  my  commands  obey, 
And  give  up  Laius  to  the  realms  of  day, 
Whose  ghost  yet  shiv'ring  on  Cocytus'  sand, 
Expects  its  passage  to  the  further  strand: 
Let  the  pale  sire  revisit  Thebes,  and  bear 
These  pleasing  orders  to  the  tyrant's5  ear; 
That,  from  his  exiled  brother,  swelled  with  pride 
Of  foreign  forces,  and  his  Argive  bride,6 
Almighty  Jove  commands  him  to  detain 
The  promised  empire,  and  alternate  reign: 
Be  this  the  cause  of  more  than  mortal  hate : 
The  rest,  succeeding  times  shall  ripen  into  fate." 

The  god  obeys,  and  to  his  feet  applies 
Those  golden  wings  that  cut  the  yielding  skies; 
His  ample  hat  his  beamy  locks  o'erspread, 
And  veiled  the  starry  glories  of  his  head ! 
He  seized  the  wand  that  causes  sleep  to  fly, 
Or  in  soft  slumbers  seals  the  wakeful  eye; 

i  Eteocles  and  Polynices.— Pope.  2  Venus,  Stat.  Sylv.  I.  v.  86. 

3  Bacchus  was  the  son  of  the  Theban  princess  Semele. 
*  Mercury.  5  Eteocles. 

e  Polynices  had  married  1,he  daughter  of  the  Kin^  of  Argos, 


vj-iny 


418  TRANSLATIONS. 

That  drives  the  dead  to  dark  Tartarean  coasts, 
Or  back  to  life  compels  the  wand'ring  ghosts. 
Thus,  through  the  parting  clouds,  the  son  of  May 
Wings  on  the  whistling  winds  his  rapid  way; 
Now  smoothly  steers  through  air  his  equal  flight, 
Now  springs  aloft,  and  tow'rs  th'  ethereal  height; 
Then  wheeling  down  the  steep  of  heav'n  he  flies, 
And  draws  a  radiant  circle  o'er  the  skies. 

Meantime  the  banished  Polynices  roves 
(His  Thebes  abandoned)  through  th'  Aonian  groves, 
While  future  realms  his  wand'ring  thoughts  delight, 
His  daily  vision  and  his  dream  by  night; 
Forbidden  Thebes  appears  before  his  eye, 
From  whence  he  sees  his  absent  brother  fly, 
With  transport  views  the  airy  rule  his  own, 
And  swells  on  an  imaginary  throne. 
Fain  would  he  cast  a  tedious  age  away, 
And  live  out  all  in  one  triumphant  day. 
He  chides  the  lazy  progress  of  the  sun, 
And  bids  the  year  with  swifter  motion  run. 
With  anxious  hopes  his  craving  mind  is  tost, 
And  all  his  joys  in  length  of  wishes  lost. 

The  hero  then  resolves  his  course  to  bend 
Where  ancient  Danaus'  fruitful  fields  extend,1 
And  famed  Mycenae's  lofty  towers  ascend, 
(Where  late  the  sun  did  Atreus'  crimes  detest, 
And  disappeared  in  horror  of  the  feast). 
And  now  by  chance,  by  fate,  or  furies  led, 
From  Bacchus'  consecrated  caves  he  fled, 
Where  the  shrill  cries  of  frantic  matrons  sound, 
And  Pentheus'  blood  enriched  the  rising  ground.2 
Then  sees  Citkseron  tow'ring  o'er  the  plain, 
And  thence  declining  gently  to  the  main. 
Next  to  the  bounds  of  Nisus'  realm  repairs,3 
Where  treacherous  Scylla  cut  the  purple  hairs: 
The  hanging  cliffs  of  Sciron's  rock  explores, 
And  hears  the  murmurs  of  the  diff 'rent  shores; 
Passes  the  strait  that  parts  the  foaming  seas, 
And  stately  Corinth's  pleasing  site  surveys. 

1  Argos.  The  sun  is  said  to  have  been  eclipsed  by  horror  at 
Atreus's  feast,  at  which  he  served  up  the  flesh  of  Thyestes'  children 
to  their  father. 

3  See  note  at  p.  419. 

3  Megara.    See  previous  note  in  "  Rape  of  the  Lock,"  p.  74, 


TEA  NSLA  TIONS.  419 

'Twas  now  the  time  when  Phoebus  yields  to  night 
And  rising  Cynthia  sheds  her  silver  light, 
Wide  o'er  the  world  in  solemn  pomp  she  drew, 
Her  airy  chariot  hung  with  pearly  dew; 
All  birds  and  beasts  lie  hushed;   sleep  steals  away 
The  wild  desires  of  men,  and  toils  of  day, 
And  brings,  descending  through  the  silent  air, 
A  sweet  forgetfulness  of  human  care. 
Yet  no  red  clouds,  with  golden  borders  gay, 
Promise  the  skies  the  bright  return  of  day; 
No  faint  reflections  of  the  distant  light 
Streak  with  long  gleams  the  scatt'ring  shades   of 

night: 

From  the  damp  earth  impervious  vapours  rise, 
Increase  the  darkness  and  involve  the  skies. 
At  once  the  rushing  wind  with  roaring  sound 
Burst  from  th'  .ZEolian  caves,  and  rend  the  ground, 
With  equal  rage  their  airy  quarrel  try, 
And  win  by  turns  the  kingdom  of  the  sky: 
But  with  a  thicker  night  black  Auster  shrouds 
The  heav'ns,  and  drives  on  heaps  the  rolling  clouds, 
From  whose  dark  womb  a  rattling  tempest  pours, 
Which  the  cold  north  congeals  to  haily  show'rs. 
From  pole  to  pole  the  thunder  roars  aloud, 
And  broken  lightnings  flash  from  ev'ry  cloud. 
Now  smokes  with  show'rs  the  misty  mountain-ground 
And  floated  fields  lie  undistinguished  round. 
Th'  Inachian  streams  with  headlong  fury  run, 
And  Erasinus 1  rolls  a  deluge  on: 
The  foaming  Lerna  swells  above  its  bounds, 
And  spreads  its  ancient  poisons2  o'er  the  grounds: 
Where  late  was  dust,  now  rapid  torrents  play, 
Rush  through  the  mounds,  and  bear  the  dams  away: 
Old  limbs  of  trees  from  crackling  forests  torn, 
And  whirled  in  air,  and  on  the  winds  are  borne, 
The  storm  the  dark  Lycsean  groves  displayed, 
And  first  to  light  exposed  the  sacred  shade. 
Th'  intrepid  Theban  hears  the  bursting  sky, 
Sees  yawning  rocks  in  massy  fragments  fly, 
And  views  astonished,  from  the  hills  afar, 
The  floods  descending,  and  the  wat'ry  war, 


1  Rivers  of  Argos. 

2  It  was  said  to  have  been  impregnated  by  poison  from  the  Hydra 
wbicli  Hercules  slew, 


420  TRANSLATIONS. 

That,  driv'n  by  storms  and  pouring  o'er  the  plain, 
Swept  herds,  and  hinds,  and  houses  to  the  main. 
Through  the  brown  horrors  of  the  night  he  fled, 
Nor  knows,  amazed,  what  doubtful  path  to  tread, 
His  brother's  image  to  his  mind  appears, 
Inflames  his  heart  with  rage,  and  wings  his  feet  with 
fears. 

So  fares  a  sailor  on  the  stormy  main. 
When  clouds  conceal  Bootes'  golden  wain, 
When  not  a  star  its  friendly  lustre  keeps,    ' 
Nor  trembling  Cynthia  glimmers  on  the  deeps; 
He  dreads  the  rocks,  and  shoals,  and  seas,  and  skies, 
While  thunder  roars,  and  lightning  round  him  flies. 

Thus  strove  the  chief,  on  ev'ry  side  distressed, 
Thus  still  his  courage,  with  his  toils  increased; 
With  his  broad  shield  opposed,  he  forced  his  way 
Through  thickest  woods,  and  roused  the  beasts  of 
Till  he  beheld,  where  from  Larissa's  height       [prey. 
The  shelving  walls  reflect  a  glancing  light: 
Thither  with  haste  the  Theban  hero  flies; 
On  this  side  Lerna's  poisonous  water  lies, 
On  that  Prosymna's  grove  and  temple  rise: 
He  passed  the  gates  which  then  unguarded  lay, 
And  to  the  regal  palace  bent  his  way; 
On  the  cold  marble,  spent  with  toil,  he  lies, 
And  waits  till  pleasing  slumbers  seal  his  eyes. 

Adrastus  here  his  happy  people  sways, 
Blest  with  calm  peace  in  his  declining  days, 
By  both  his  parents  of  descent  divine, 
Great  Jove  and  Phoebus  graced  his  noble  line : 
Heaven  had  not  crowned  his  wishes  with  a  son, 
But  two  fair  daughters  heired  his  state  and  throne. 
To  him  Apoll o  (wondrous  to  relate ! 
But  who  can  pierce  into  the  depths  of  fate  ?) 
Had  sung — "  Expect  thy  sons  on  Argos'  shore, 
A  yellow  lion  and  a  bristly  boar/' 
This  long  revolved  in  his  paternal  breast, 
Sate  heavy  on  his  heart,  and  broke  his  rest; 
This,  great  Amphiaraus,  lay  hid  from  thee, 
Though  skilled  in  fate,  and  dark  futurity. 
The  father's  care  and  prophet's  art  were  vain, 
For  this  did  the  predicting  god  ordain. 

Lo  hapless  Tydeus,  whose  ill-fated  hand 
Had  slain  his  brother,  leaves  his  native  land, 


TRANSLATIONS.  421 

And  seized  with  horror  in  the  shades  of  night, 
Through  the  thick  deserts  headlong  urged  his  flight: 
Now  by  the  fury  of  the  tempest  driven, 
He  seeks  a  shelter  from  th'  inclement  heav'n, 
Till,  led  by  fate,  the  Theban's  steps  he  treads, 
And  to  fair  Argos'  open  courts  succeeds. 

When  thus  the  chiefs  from  diff'rent  lands  resort 
T'  Adrastus'  realms,  and  hospitable  court; 
The  king  surveys  his  guests  with  curious  eyes, 
And  views  their  arms  and  habit  with  surprise. 
A  lion's  yellow  skin  the  Theban  wears, 
Horrid  his  mane,  and  rough  with  curling  hairs; 
Such  once  employed  Alcides'1  youthful  toils, 
Ere  yet  adorned  with  Nemea's  dreadful  spoils. 
A  boar's  stiff  hide,  of  Calydonian  breed, 
CEnides'  manly  shoulders  overspread. 
Oblique  his  tusks,  erect  his  bristles  stood, 
Alive,  the  pride  and  terror  of  the  wood. 

Struck  with  the  sight,  and  fixed  in  deep  amaze, 
The  king  th'  accomplished  oracle  surveys, 
Reveres  Apollo's  vocal  caves,  and  owns 
The  guiding  godhead,  and  his  future  sons. 
O'er  all  his  bosom  secret  transports  reign, 
And  a  glad  horror  shoots  through  ev'ry  vein. 
To  heaven  he  lifts  his  hands,  erects  his  sight. 
And  thus  invokes  the  silent  queen  of  night: 

"  Goddess  of  shades,  beneath  whose  gloomy  reign 
Yon  spangled  arch  glows  with  the  starry  train: 
You  who  the  cares  of  heav'n,  and  earth  allay, 
'Till  nature  quickened  by  th'  inspiring  ray 
Wakes  to  new  vigour  with  the  rising  day. 
Oh  thou  who  freest  me  from  my  doubtful  state, 
Long  lost  and  wildered  in  the  maze  of  fate ! 
Be  present  still,  oh  goddess!  in  our  aid; 
Proceed,  and  'firm  those  omens  thou  hast  made. 
We  to  thy  name  our  annual  rites  will  pay, 
And  on  thy  altars  sacrifices  lay; 
The  sable  flock  shall  fall  beneath  the  stroke, 
And  fill  thy  temples  with  a  grateful  smoke. 
Hail,  faithful  Tripos !  hail,  ye  dark  abodes 
Of  awful  Phoebus!  I  confess  the  gods!" 

Thus,  seized  with  sacred  fear,  the  monarch  prayed ; 
Then  to  his  inner  court  the  guests  conveyed; 
i  Hercules. 


422  TRANSLATIONS. 

Where  yet  thin  fumes  from  Tlying  sparks  arise, 
And  dust  yet  white  upon  each  altar  lies, 
The  relics  of  a  former  sacrifice. 
The  king  once  more  the  solemn  rites  requires, 
And  bids  renew  the  feasts  and  wake  the  fires. 
His  train  obey,  while  all  the  courts  around 
With  noisy  care  and  various  tumult  sound. 
Embroidered  purple  clothes  the  golden  beds; 
This  slave  the  floor,  and  that  the  table  spreads: 
A  third  dispels  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
And  fills  depending  lamps  with  beams  of  light; 
Here  loaves  in  canisters  are  piled  on  high, 
And  there  in  flames,  the  slaughtered  victims  fry. 
Sublime  in  regal  state  Adrastus  shone, 
Stretched  on  rich  carpets  on  his  iv'ry  throne; 
A  lofty  couch  receives  each  princely  guest; 
Around,  at  awful  distance,  wait  the  rest. 

And  now  the  king,  his  royal  feast  to  grace, 
Acestis  calls,  the  guardian  of  his  race, 
Who  first  their  youth  in  arts  of  virtue  trained, 
And  their  ripe  years  in  modest  grace  maintained. 
Then  softly  whispered  in  her  faithf  !  ear, 
And  bade  his  daughters  at  the  rites  appear. 
When  from  the  close  apartments  of  the  night, 
The  royal  nymphs  approach  divinely  bright; 
Such  was  Diana's,  such  Minerva's  face; 
Nor  shine  their  beauties  with  superior  grace, 
But  that  in  these  a  milder  charm  endears, 
And  less  of  terror  in  their  looks  appears. 
As  on  the  heroes  first  they  cast  their  eyes, 
O'er  their  fair  cheeks  the  glowing  blushes  rise, 
Their  downcast  looks  a  decent  shame  confessed, 
Then  on  their  father's  rev 'rend  features  rest. 

The  banquet  done,  the  monarch  gives  the  sign 
To  fill  the  goblet  high  with  sparkling  wine, 
Which  Danaus1  used  in  sacred  rites  of  old, 
With  sculpture  graced,  and  rough  with  rising  gold. 
Here  to  the  clouds  victorious  Perseus 2  flies, 
Medusa  seems  to  move  her  languid  eyes, 
And  even  in  gold,  turns  paler  as  she  dies. 
There  from  the  chase  Jove's  tow'ring  eagle  bears, 


1  A  former  king  of  Argos. 

2  Perseus,  being  by  his  mother  grandson  of  a  king  of  Argos. 


TRANSLATIONS.  423 

On  golden  wings,  the  Phrygian1  to  the  stars: 
Still  as  he  rises  in  the  etherial  height, 
His  native  mountains  lessen  to  his  sight; 
While  all  his  sad  companions  upward  gaze, 
Fixed  on  the  glorious  scene  in  wild  amaze; 
And  the  swift  hounds,  affrighted  as  he  flies, 
Run  to  the  shades,  and  bark  against  the  skies. 

This  golden  bowl  with  gen'rous  juice  was  crowned^ 
The  first  libations  sprinkled  on  the  ground, 
By  turns  on  each  celestial  pow'r  they  call; 
With  Phoebus'  name  resounds  the  vaulted  hall. 
The  courtly  train,  the  strangers,  and  the  rest,       [ed, 
Crowned  with  chaste  laurel 2  and  with  garlands  dress- 
While  with  rich  gums  the  fuming  altars  blaze, 
Salute  the  God  in  numerous  hymns  of  praise. 

Then  thus  the  king:  "Perhaps,  my  noble  guests, 
These  honoured  altars,  and  these  annual  feasts 
To  bright  Apollo's  awful  name  designed, 
Unknown,  with  wonder  may  perplex  your  mind. 
Great  was  the  cause;  our  old  solemnities 
From  no  blind  zeal  or  fond  tradition  rise; 
But  saved  from  death,  our  Argives  yearly  pay 
These  grateful  honours  to  the  God  pi  Day. 

"When  by  a  thousand  darts  the  Python  slain1 
With  orbs  unrolled  lay  cov'ring  all  the  plain, 
(Transfixed  as  o'er  Castalia's  streams  he  hung, 
And  sucked  new  poisons  with  his  triple  tongue) 
To  Argus'  realms  the  victor  god  resorts, 
And  enters  old  Crotopus'  humble  courts. 
This  rural  prince  one  only  daughter  blest, 
That  all  the  charms  of  blooming  youth  possessed; 
Fair  was  her  face,  and  spotless  was  her  mind, 
Where  filial  love  with  virgin  sweetness  joined. 
Happy !  and  happy  still  she  might  have  proved, 
Were  she  less  beautiful,  or  less  beloved ! 
But  Phoebus  loved,  and  on  the  flow'ry  side 
Of  Nemea's  stream,  the  yielding  fair  enjoyed: 
Now,  ere  ten  moons  their  orb  with  light  adorn, 
Th'  illustrious  offspring  of  the  God  was  born, 
The  nymph,  her  father's  anger-  to  evade, 
Betires  from  Argus  to  the  Sylvan  shade, 

1  Ganymede,  cupbearer  to  the  gods. 

2  Sacred  to  Apollo, 
*  By  Apollo, 


d24  TRANSLATIONS. 

To  woods  and  wilds  the  pleasing  burden  bears, 
And  trusts  her  infant  to  a  shepherd's  cares. 

"  How  mean  a  fate,  unhappy  child !  is  thine ! 
Ah,  how  unworthy  those  of  race  divine ! 
On  flow'ry  herbs  in  some  green  covert  laid, 
His  bed  the  ground,  his  canopy  the  shade, 
He  mixes  with  the  bleating  lambs  his  cries, 
While  the  rude  swain  his  rural  music  tries 
To  call  soft  slumbers  on  his  infant  eyes. 
Yet  ev'n  in  those  obscure  abodes  to  live, 
Was  more,  alas !  than  cruel  fate  would  give, 
For  on  the  grassy  verdure  as  he  lay 
And  breathed  the  freshness  of  the  early  day, 
Devouring  dogs  the  helpless  infant  tore, 
Fed  on  his  trembling  limbs,  and  lapped  the  gore 
Th'  astonished  mother,  when  the  rumour  came, 
Forgets  her  father,  and  neglects  her  fame, 
With  loud  complaints  she  fills  the  yielding  air, 
And  beats  her  breast,  and  rends  her  flowing  hair; 
Then  wild  with  anguish  to  her  sire  she  flies: 
Demands  the  sentence,  and  contented  dies 

"  But  touched  with  sorrow,  for  the  dead  too  late, 
The  raging  God  prepares  t'  avenge  her  fate. 
He  sends  a  monster,  horrible  and  fell, 
Begot  by  furies  in  the  depths  of  hell, 
The  pest  a  virgin's  face  and  bosom  bears; 
High  on  a  crown,  a  rising  snake  appears, 
Guards  her  black  front,  and  hisses  in  her  hairs: 
About  the  realm  she  walks  her  dreadful  round, 
When  night  with  sable  wings  o'erspreads  the  groundj 
Devours  young  babes  before  their  parents'  eyes, 
And  feeds  and  thrives  on  public  miseries. 

"  But  generous  rage  the  bold  Chorcebus  warms, 
Chorcebus,  famed  for  virtue,  as  for  arms; 
Some  few  like  him,  inspired  writh  martial  flame, 
Thought  a  short  life  well  lost  for  endless  fame. 
These,  where  two  ways  in  equal  parts  divide, 
The  direful  monster  from  afar  descried; 
Two  bleeding  babes  depending  at  her  side, 
Whose  panting  vitals,,  warm  with  life,  she  draws, 
And  in  their  hearts  embrues  her  cruel  claws. 
The  youths  surround  her  with  extended  spears; 
But  brave  Chorcebus  in  the  front  appears, 
Deep  in  her  breast  he  plunged  his  shining  sword, 


TRANSLATIONS.  42S 

And  hell's  dire  monster  back  to  hell  restored. 
Tlr  Inacbians  view  the  slain  with  vast  surprise, 
Her  twisting  volumes  and  her  rolling  eyes, 
Her  spotted  breast,  and  gaping  womb  embrued 
With  livid  poison,  and  our  children's  blood. 
The  crowd  in  stupid  wonder  fixed  appear, 
Pale  even  in  joy,  nor  yet  forget  to  fear. 
Some  with  vast  beams  the  squalid  corpse  engage, 
And  weary  all  the  wild  efforts  of  rage. 
The  birds  obscene,  that  nightly  flocked  to  taste, 
With  hollow  screeches  fled  the  dire  repast: 
And  rav'nous  dogs,  allured  by  scented  blood, 
And  starving  wolves,  ran  howling  to  the  wood. 

"  But  fired  with  rage,  from  cleft  Parnassus'  brow 
Avenging  Phoebus  bent  his  deadly  bowr, 
And  hissing  flew  the  feathered  fates  below: 
A  night  of  sultry  clouds  involved  around 
The  tow'rs,  the  fields,  and  the  devoted  ground: 
And  now  a  thousand  lives  together  fled, 
Death  with  his  scythe  cut  off  the  fatal  thread, 
And  a  whole  province  in  his  triumph  Jed. 

"  But  Phcebus,  asked  why  noxious  fires  appear, 
And  raging  Sirius  blasts  the  sickly  year; 
Demands  their  lives  by  whom  his  monster  fell 
And  dooms  a  dreadful  sacrifice  to  hell. 

"Blessed  be  thy  dust,  and  let  eternal  fame 
Attend  thy  Manes,  and  preserve  thy  name;    • 
Undaunted  hero !  who  divinely  brave, 
In  such  a  cause  disdained  thy  life  to  save; 
But  viewed  the  shrine  with  a  superior  look, 
And  its  upbraided  Godhead  thus  bespoke: 

" '  With  piety,  the  soul's  securest  guard, 
And  conscious  virtue,  still  its  own  reward, 
Willing  I  come,  unknowing  how  to  fear; 
Nor  shalt  thou,  Phcebus,  find  a  suppliant  here. 
Thy  monster's  death  to  me  was  owed  alone, 
And  'tis  a  deed  too  glorious  to  disown. 
Behold  him  here,  for  whom,  so  many  days, 
Impervious  clouds  concealed  thy  sullen  rays; 
For  whom,  as  man  no  longer  claimed  thy  care, 
Such  numbers  fell  by  pestilential  air ! 
But  if  th'  abandoned  race  -of  human  kind 
From  gods  above  no  more  compassion  find; 
If  such  inclemency  in  heaven  can  dwell. 


426  TRANSLATIONS. 

Yet  why  must  unoffending  Argos  feel 
The  vengeance  due  to  this  unlucky  steel? 
On  me,  on  me,  let  all  thy  fury  fall, 
Nor  err  from  me,  since  I  deserve  it  all: 
Unless  our  desert  cities  please  thy  sight, 
Or  funeral  flames  reflect  a  grateful  light. 
Discharge  thy  shafts,  this  ready  bosom  rend, 
And  to  the  shades  a  ghost  triumphant  send; 
But  for  my  country  let  my  fate*  atone, 
Be  mine  the  vengeance,  as  the  crime  my  own/ 

"Merit  distressed,  impartial  heav'n  relieves: 
Unwelcome  life  relenting  Phoebus  gives; 
For  not  the  vengeful  pow'r,  that  glowed  with  rage 
With  such  amazing  virtue  durst  engage. 
The  clouds  dispersed,  Apollo's  wrath  expired, 
And  from  the  wondering  god  th'  unwilling  youti 
Thence  we  these  altars  in  his  temple  raise,    [retired 
And  offer  annual  honours,  feasts,  and  praise; 
These  solemn  feasts  propitious  Phoebus  please: 
These  honors,  still  renewed,  his  ancient  wrath  appease. 

"  But  say,  illustrious  guest "  (adjoined  the  king) 
"What  name  you  bear,   from  what  high  race  you 

spring  ? 

The  noble  Tydeus  stands  confessed,  and  known 
Our  neighbour  prince,  and  heir  of  Calydon. 
Relate  your  fortunes,  while  the  friendly  night 
And  silent  hours  to  various  talk  invite." 

The  Theban  bends  on  earth  his  gloomy  eyes, 
Confused,  and  sadly  thus  at  length  replies: 
"  Before  these  altars  how  shall  I  proclaim 
(Oh,  generous  prince)  my  nation  or  my  name, 
Or  through  what  veins  our  ancient  blood  has  rolled  ? 
Let  the  sad  tale  for  ever  rest  untold  ! 
Yet  if  propitious  to  a  wretch  unknown, 
You  seek  to  share  in  sorrows  not  your  own; 
Know  then  from  Cadmus  I  derive  my  race, 
Jocasta's  son,  and  Thebes  my  native  place." 
To  whom  the  king  (who  felt  his  gen'rous  breast 
Touched  with  concern  for  his  unhappy  guest) 
Replies —  "Ah,  why  forbears  the  son  to  name 
His  wretched  father  known  too  well  by  fame  ? 
Fame,  that  delights  around  the  world  to  stray, 
Scorns  not  to  take  our  Argos  in  her  way. 
E'en  those  who  dwell  where  suns  at  distance  roll, 


TRANSLATIONS.  427 

In  northern  wilds,  and  freeze  beneath  the  pole; 
And  those  who  tread  the  burning  Libyan  lands, 
The  faithless  Syrtes1  and  the  moving  sands; 
Who  view  the  western  sea's  extremest  bounds, 
Or  drink  of  Ganges  in  their  eastern  grounds; 
All  these  the  woes  of  CEdipus  have  known, 
Your  fates,  your  furies,  and  your  haunted  town. 
If  on  the  sons  the  parents'  crimes  descend, 
What  prince  from  those  his  lineage  can  defend? 
Be  this  thy  comfort,  that  'tis  thine  t'  efface 
With  virtuous  acts  thy  ancestor's  disgrace, 
And  be  thyself  the  honour  of  thy  race. 
But  see !  the  stars  begin  to  steal  away, 
And  shine  more  faintly  at  approaching  day; 
Now  pour  the  wine;  and  in  your  tuneful  lays 
Once  more  resound  the  great  Apollo's  praise." 
"  Oh,  father  Phoebus !  whether  Lycia's  coast 
And  snowy  mountains  thy  bright  presence  boast; 
Whether  to  sweet  Castalia  thou  repair, 
And  bathe  in  silver  dews  thy  yellow  hair; 
Or  pleased  to  find  fair  Delos  float  no  more, 2 
Delight  in  Cynthus,  and  the  shady  shore; 
Or  choose  thy  seat  in  Ilion's  proud  abodes, 
The  shining  structures  raised  by  lab'ring  gods, 
By  thee  the  bow  and  mortal  shafts  are  borne; 
Eternal  charms  thy  blooming  youth  adorn: 
Skilled  in  the  laws  of  secret  fate  above, 
And  the  dark  counsels  of  almighty  Jove, 
JTis  thine  the  seeds  of  future  war  to  know, 
The  change  of  sceptres,  and  impending  woe; 
When  direful  meteors  spread  through  glowing  air 
Long  trails  of  light,  and  shake  their  blazing  hair.3 
Thy  rage  the  Phrygian 4  felt,  who  durst  aspire 
To  excel  the  music  of  thy  heavenly  lyre; 
Thy  shafts  avenged  lewd  Tityus' 5  guilty  flame, 
The  immortal  victim  of  thy  mother's  fame; 

1  Two  large  sandbanks  in   the   Mediterranean,  on  the  coast  of 
Africa :  one  near  Leptis,  the  other  near  Carthage.    As  they  constant- 
ly varied  in  position,  their  names  became  proverbial  for  dangerous 
navigation. 

2  Delos  was  a  floating  island  till  fixed  by  Apollo.    He  was  born  on 
Mount  Cynthus. 

3  Alluding  to  the  superstition  of  comets  foretelling  war  and  woe. 

4  Marsyas. 

6  A  giant  who  assaulted  Latona,  the  mother  of  Apollo,  and  waft 
slain  by  her  son  and  daughter. 


428  TRANSLATIONS. 

Thy  hand  slew  Python,  and  the  dame l  who  lost 

Her  numerous  offspring  for  a  fatal  boast. 

In  Phlegyas'  doom  thy  just  revenge  appears,2 

Condemned  to  furies  and  eternal  fears; 

He  views  his  food,  but  dreads,  with  lifted  eye, 

The  mouldering  rock  that  trembles  from  on  high. 

"  Propitious  hear  our  prayer,  O  power  divine ! 
And  on  thy  hospitable  Argos  shine. 
Whether  the  style  of  Titan  please  thee  more, 
Whose  purple  rays  th'  Achaeinenes  adore; 
Or  great  Osiris, 3  who  first  taught  the  swain 
In  Pharian  fields  to  sow  the  golden  grain; 
Or  Mitra, 4  to  whose  beams  the  Persian  bows, 
And  pays,  in  hollow  rocks,  his  awful  vows; 
Mitra,  whose  head  the  blaze  of  light  adorns, 
Who  grasps  the  struggling  heifer's  lunar  horns." 

1  Niobe,  who  boasted  that  her  children  excelled  those  of  Latona. 
Her  fourteen  children  were  slain  by  Phoebus,  and  she,  from  grief,  was 
turned  into  stone. 

2  King  of  the  Lapithse  in  Thessaly.    To  revenge  an  affront  to  his 
daughter  he  marched  to  Delphi  and  reduced  the  temple  of  Apollo  to 
ashes.    The  god  killed  Phlegyas  and  placed  him  in  hell,  where 
a  huge  stone  suspended  over  his  head,  and  threatening  momentarily 
to  fall,  kept  him  in  constant  dread. 

«  Osiris,  Egyptian  sun-god.  4  Persian  god  or  the  sun. 


429 


TRANSLATIONS   FROM 
OVID. 


ADVEKTISEMENT. 

THE  following  translations  were  selected  from  many  others 
done  by  the  author  in  his  youth ;  for  the  most  part  indeed  but 
a  sort  of  exercise,  while  he  was  improving  himself  in  the 
languages,  and  carried  by  his  early  bent  to  poetry  to  perform 
them  rather  in  verse  than  prose.  Mr.  Dryden's  Fables  came 
out  about  that  time,  which  occasioned  the  Translations  from 
Chaucer.  They  were  first  separately  printed  in  miscellanies 
by  J.  Tonson  and  B.  Lintot,  and  afterwards  collected  in  the 
quarto  edition  of  1717.  The  Imitations  of  English  Authors, 
which  are  added  at  the  end,  were  done  as  early,  some  of  them 
at  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  old ;  but  having  also  got  into 
miscellanies,  we  have  put  them  here  together  to  complete 
this  juvenile  volume,—  Pope,  in  vol.  iii.  of  his  works  published 
1786. 


ff 


SAPPHO  TO  PHAON.1 

TKANSLATED    FROM    OVID. 

SAY,  lovely  youth,  that  dost  my  heart  command, 
Can  Phaon's  eyes  forget  his  Sappho's  hand  ? 
Must  then  her  name  the  wretched  writer  prove, 
To  thy  remembrance  lost,  as  to  thy  love  ? 

1  Sappho,  a  famous  Greek  poetess,  was  called  by  the  ancients  the 
Tenth  Muse.  An  inconstant  lover,  called  Phaon,  occasioned  great 
calamities  to  this  poetical  lady.  She  fell  desperately  in  love  with 
him,  and  took  a  voyage  to  Sicily  in  pursuit  of  him,  he  having  with- 
drawn himself  thither  on  purpose  to  avoid  her.  It  was  in  that 
island  she  is  supposed  to  have  written  her  hymn  to  Venus  .... 
Her  hymn  was  ineffectual  in  procuring  that  happiness  which 
she  prayed  for  in  .  it,  and  Sappho  was  so  transported  with  the 
violence  of  her  passion  that  she  determined  to  get  rid  of  it  at  any 
price. 

There  was  a  promontory  in  Acarnania  called  Leucate,  on  the  top 
of  which  was  a  small  temple  sacred  to  Apollo.  In  this  temple  it  was 


430  TRANSLATIONS. 

Ask  not  the  cause  that  I  new  numbers  choose, 

The  lute  neglected,  and  the  lyric  muse  ; 

Love  taught  my  tears  in  sadder  notes  to  flow, 

And  tuned  my  heart  to  elegies  of  woe. 

I  burn,  I  burn,  as  when  through  ripened  corn 

By  driving  winds  the  spreading  flames  are  borne ! 

Phaon  to  ^Etna's  scorching  fields  retires, 

While  I  consume  with  more  than  ^Etna's  fires ! 

No  more  my  soul  a  charm  in  music  finds, 

Music  has  charms  alone  for  peaceful  minds. 

Soft  scenes  of  solitude  no  more  can  please, 

Love  enters  there,  and  I'm  my  own  disease. 

No  more  the  Lesbian  dames  my  passion  move, 

Once  the  dear  objects  of  my  guilty  love  ; 

All  other  loves  are  lost  in  only  thine, 

Ah,  youth  ungrateful  to  a  flame  like  mine ! 

Whom  would  not  all  those  blooming  charms  surprise, 

Those  heavenly  looks,  and  dear  deluding  eyes  ? 

The  harp  and  bow  would  you  like  Phoebus  bear, 

A  brighter  Phoebus  Phaon  might  appear ; 

Would  you  with  ivy  wreathe  your  flowing  hair, 

Not  Bacchus'  self  with  Phaon  could  compare  : 

Yet  Phoebus  loved,  and  Bacchus  felt  the  flame, 

One  Daphne  warmed,  and  one  the  Cretan  dame,1 

usual  for  despairing  lovers  to  make  their  vows  in  secret,  and  after- 
wards fling  themselves  from  the  top  of  the  precipice  into  the  sea ; 
where  they  were  sometimes  taken  up  alive  ....  those  who  had 
taken  this  leap  were  observed  never  to  relapse  into  that  passion. 
Sappho  tried  the  cure  and  perished  in  the  experiment.— Addison, 
Spec.  No.  223. 

The  sea  has  washed  away  the  narrow  neck  of  land  which  once  con- 
nected Leucas  or  Leucate  with  Greece ;  it  is  now  an  island  called  St. 
Mauro,  and  the  ancient  promontory  of  Leucate  is  "  Cape  St.  Mauro." 
—See  Spec.  No.  227  (Addison). 

.  4i  Alcaeus,  the  poet,  arrived  at  the  promontory  that  very  evening  in 
order  to  take  the  leap  on  her  account,  but  refrained  when  he  heard 
that  her  body  could  not  be  found,  and  is  said  to  have  written 
his  215th  ode  on  the  occasion." — Warton;  and  Addison,  Spec.  No.  228. 

It  seems  fair  to  add  that  modern  research  has  proved  that  Sappho 
was  calumniated.  That  she  never  named  her  lover ;  and  that  she  was 
of  good  character.  The  great  authority,  Karl  Miiller,  tells  us, 
"  Alcseus  testifies  that  the  attractions  and  loveliness  of  Sappho  olid 
not  derogate  from  her  moral  worth  when  he  calls  her  '  violet-crown- 
ed, pure,  sweetly-smiling  Sappho.'"  He  explains  that  she  was  a 
Lesbian  and  had  a  school  for  poetry.  The  Athenians,  who  secluded 
their  women,  as  the  Orientals  do,  could  not  believe  in  the  moral 
character  of  a  woman  who  made  herself  famous,  and  belied  Sappho, 
as  Ovid,  following  them,  did  also. 

Miiller  says  also  that  the  leap  from  Leucadia  was  rather  a  poetical 
image  than  a  real  event  in  the  life  of  Sappho,  who  survived  Alca?us. 
See  a  delightful  account  of  Sappho  in  Muller's  History  of  the  Litera- 
ture of  Modern  Greece,  voi,  i.  p.  71. 

*  Ariadne. 


TRANSLATIONS.  431 

Nymphs  that  in  verse  no  more  could  rival  me, 

Than  ev'n  those  gods  contend  in  charms  with  thee. 

The  muses  teach  me  all  their  softest  lays, 

And  the  wide  world  resounds  with  Sappho's  praise  ; 

Though  great  Alcseus 1  more  sublimely  sings, 

And  strikes  with  bolder  rage  the  sounding  strings, 

No  less  renown  attends  the  moving  lyre, 

"Which  Venus  tunes,  and  all  her  loves  inspire; 

To  me  what  nature  has  in  charms  denied, 

Is  well  by  wit's  more  lasting  flame  supplied. 

Though  short  my  stature,  yet  my  name  extends 

To  heav'n  itself,  and  earth's  remotest  ends. 

Brown  as  I  am,  an  Ethiopian  dame a 

Inspired  young  Perseus  with  a  gen'rous  flame; 

Turtles  and  doves  of  diff  'ring  hues  unite, 

And  glossy  jet  is  paired  with  shining  white. 

If  to  no  charms  thou  wilt  thy  heart  resign, 

But  such  as  merit,  such  as  equal  thine, 

By  none,  alas !  by  none  thou  canst  be  moved, 

Phaon  alone  by  Phaon  must  be  loved ! 

Yet  once  thy  Sappho  could  thy  cares  employ, 

Once  in  her  arms  you  centred  all  your  joy: 

No  time  the  dear  remembrance  can  remove, 

For  oh !  how  vast  a  memory  has  love ! 

My  music,  then,  you  could  for  ever  hear, 

And  all  my  words  were  music  to  your  ear. 

You  stopped' with  kisses  my  enchanting  tongue, 

And  found  my  kisses  sweeter  than  my  song. 

In  all  I  pleased,  but  most  in  what  was  best; 

And  the  last  joy  was  dearer  than  the  rest. 

Then  with  each  word,  each  glance,  each  motion  fired, 

You  still  enjoyed,  and  yet  you  still  desired, 

Till  all  dissolving  in  the  trance  we  lay, 

And  in  tumultuous  raptures  died  away. 

The  fair  Sicilians  now  thy  soul  inflame; 

Why  was  I  born,  ye  gods,  a  Lesbian  dame  ? 

But  ah  beware,  Sicilian  nymphs !  nor  boast 

That  wand'ring  heart  which  I  so  lately  lost; 

Nor  be  with  all  those  tempting  words  abused, 

Those  tempting  words  were  all  to  Sappho  used. 

1  AlcaBus  was  a  celebrated  lyric  poet  of  Mitylene  in  Lesbos.    He 
flourished  about  B.  c.  600.    Only  a  few  fragments  of  his  works  remain. 

2  Andromeda,  daughter  of  Cepheus,  king  of  Ethiopia.    To  appease 
the  anger  of  the  Nereids,  she  was  exposed  to  a  sea  monster     Perseus 
Blew  the  monster  and  married  Andromeda. 


432  TRANSLATIONS. 

And  you  that  rule  Sicilia's  happy  plains, 

Have  pity,  Venus,  on  your  poet's  pains. 

Shall  fortune  still  in  one  sad  tenor  run, 

And  still  increase  the  woes  so  soon  begun? 

Inured  to  sorrow  from  my  tender  years, 

My  parent's  ashes  drank  my  early  tears: 

My  brother  next,  neglecting  wealth  and  fame, 

Ignobly  burned  in  a  destructive  flame: 

An  infant  daughter  late  my  griefs  increased, 

Ajid  all  a  mother's  cares  distract  my  breast. 

Alas,  what  more  could  fate  itself  impose, 

But  thee,  the  last  and  greatest  of  my  woes  ? 

No  more  my  robes  in  waving  purple  flow, 

Nor  on  my  hand  the  sparkling  diamonds  glow; 

No  more  my  locks  in  ringlets  curled  diffuse 

The  costly  sweetness  of  Arabian  dews, 

Nor  braids  of  gold  the  varied  tresses  bind, 

That  fly  disordered  with  the  wanton  wind: 

For  whom  should  Sappho  use  such  arts  as  these  ? 

He's  gone,  whom  only  she  desired  to  please ! 

Cupid's  light  darts  my  tender  bosom  move, 

Still  is  there  cause  for  Sappho  still  to  love: 

So  from  my  birth  the  sisters1  fixed  my  doom, 

And  gave  to  Venus  all  my  life  to  come; 

Or  while  my  muse  in  melting  notes  complains, 

My  yielding  heart  keeps  measure  to  my  strains. 

By  charms  like  thine  which  all  my  soul  have  won, 

Who  might  not — ah !  who  would  not  be  undone  ? 

For  those  Aurora  Cephalus 2  might  scorn, 

And  with  fresh  blushes  paint  the  conscious  morn. 

For  those  might  Cynthia  lengthen  Phaon's  sleep, 

And  bid  Endymion  nightly  tend  his  sheep. 

Venus  for  those  had  rapt  thee  to  the  skies, 

But  Mars  on  thee  might  look  with  Venus'  eyes. 

O,  scarce  a  youth,  yet  scarce  a  tender  boy ! 

O,  useful  time  for  lovers  to  employ ! 

Pride  of  thy  age,  and  glory  of  thy  race, 

Come  to  these  arms,  and  melt  in  this  embrace ! 

The  vows  you  never  will  return,  receive; 

And  take  at  least  the  love  you  will  not  give. 

See,  while  I  write,  my  words  are  lost  in  tears; 

1  The  Fates. 

2  A  beautiful  hunter,  whom  the  goddess  of  the  morning  loved.    He 
killed  his  wife  Procris  by  mistake. 


TRANSLATIONS.  4ii3 

The  less  my  sense,  the  more  my  love  appears. 
Sure  'twas  not  much  to  bid  one  kind  adieu, 
(At  least  to  feign  was  never  hard  to  you) 
"  Farewell,  my  Lesbian  love,"  you  might  have  said, 
Or  coldly  thus,  "Farewell,  oh  Lesbian  maid!" 
No  tear  did  you,  no  parting  kiss  receive, 
Nor  knew  I  then  how  much  I  was  to  grieve. 
No  lover's  gift  your  Sappho  could  confer, 
And  wrongs  and  woes  were  all  you  left  with  her. 
No  charge  I  gave  you,  and  no  charge  could  give, 
But  this,  "  Be  mindful  of  our  loves,  and  live." 
Now  by  the  Nine,  those  powers  adored  by  me, 
And  Love,  the  god  that  ever  waits  on  thee, 
When  first  I  heard  (from  whom  I  hardly  knew) 
That  you  were  fled,  and  all  my  joys  with  you, 
Like  some  sad  statue,  speechless,  pale  I  stood, 
Grief  chilled  my  breast,  and  stopped  my  freezing 

blood; 

No  sigh  to  rise,  no  tear  had  pow'r  to  flow, 
Fixed  in  a  stupid  lethargy  of  woe : 
But  when  its  way  th'  impetuous  passion  found, 
I  rend  my  tresses,  and  my  breast  I  wound, 
I  rave,  then  weep,  I  curse,  and  then  complain; 
Now  swell  to  rage,  now  melt  in  tears  again. 
Not  fiercer  pangs  distract  the  mournful  dame, 
Whose  first-born  infant  feeds  the  fun'ral  flame. 
My  scornful  brother  with  a  smile  appears, 
Insults  my  woes,  and  triumphs  in  my  tears; 
His  hated  image  ever  haunts  my  eyes, 
"And  why  this  grief?  thy  daughter  lives,"  he  cries. 
Stung  with  my  love,  and  furious  with  despair, 
All  torn  my  garments,  and  my  bosom  bare, 
My  woes,  thy  crimes,  I  to  the  world  proclaim; 
Such  inconsistent  things  are  love  and  shame ! 
'Tis  thou  art  all  my  care  and  my  delight, 
My  daily  longing,  and  my  dream  by  night: 
Oh,  night  more  pleasing  than  the  brightest  day, 
When  fancy  gives  what  absence  takes  away, 
And,  dressed  in  all  its  visionary  charms, 
Restores  my  fair  deserter  to  my  arms ! 
Then  round  your  neck  in  wanton  wreaths  I  twine, 
Then  you,  methinks,  as  fondly  circle  mine; 
A  thousand  tender  words  I  hear  and  speak; 
A  thousand  melting  kisses  give,  and  take: 


434  TRANSLATIONS. 

Then  fiercer  joys,  I  blush  to  mention  these, 

Yet  while  I  blush,  confess  how  much  they  please. 

But  when,  with  day,  the  sweet  delusions  fly, 

And  all  things  wake  to  life  and  joy,  but  I, 

As  if  once  more  forsaken,  I  complain, 

And  close  my  eyes  to  dream  of  you  again: 

Then  frantic  rise,  and  like  some  fury  rove 

Through  lonely  plains,  and  through  the  silent  grove, 

A.S  if  the  silent  grove,  and  lonely  plains, 

That  knew  my  pleasures,  could  relieve  my  pains. 

I  view  the  grotto,  once  the  scene  of  love, 

The  rocks  around,  the  hanging  roofs  above, 

That  charmed  me  more,  with  native  moss  o'ergrown, 

Than  Phrygian  marble,  or  the  Parian  stone. 

I  find  the  shades  that  veiled  our  joys  before; 

But,  Phaon  gone,  those  shades  delight  no  more. 

Here  the  pressed  herbs  with  bending  tops  betray 

Where  off  entwined  in  amorous  folds  we  lay; 

I  kiss  that  earth  which  once  was  pressed  by  you, 

And  all  with  tears  the  withering  herbs  bedew. 

For  thee  the  fading  trees  appear  to  mourn, 

And  birds  defer  their  songs  till  thy  return; 

Night  shades  the  groves,  and  all  in  silence  lie, 

All  but  the  mournful  Philomel  and  I: 

With  mournful  Philomel  I  join  my  strain, 

Of  Tereus  she,  of  Phaon  I  complain. 

A  spring  there  is,  whose  silver  waters  show, 
Clear  as  a  glass,  the  shining  sands  below: 
A  flow'ry  lotos  spreads  its  arms  above, 
Shades  all  the  banks,  and  seems  itself  a  grove; 
Eternal  greens  the  mossy  margin  grace, 
Watched  by  the  sylvan  genius  of  the  place. 
Here  as  I  lay,  and  swelled  with  tears  the  flood, 
Before  my  sight  a  wat'ry  virgin  stood: l 
She  stood  and  cried,  "  O,  you  that  love  in  vain ! 
Fly  hence,  and  seek  the  fair  Leucadian  main; 
There  stands  a  rock,  from  whose  impending  steep 
Apollo's  fane  surveys  the  rolling  deep; 
There  injured  lovers,  leaping  from  above, 
Their  flames  extinguish,   and  forget  to  love. 
Deucalion 2  once  with  hopless  fury  burned, 

i  A  Naiad. 

2  Deucalion  and  Pyrrha,  of  the  race  of  Promethus,  alone  escaped 
the  universal  deluge  of  the  Grecian  mythology. 


TRANSLATIONS  435 

In  vain  lie  loved,  relentless  Pyrrha  scorned; 

But  when  from  hence  he  plunged  into  the  main, 

Deucalion  scorned,  and  Pyrrha  loved  in  vain. 

Haste,  Sappho,  haste,  from  high  Leucadia  throw 

Thy  wretched  weight,  nor  dread  the  deeps  below ! " 

She  spoke,  and  vanished  with  the  voice — I  rise, 

And  silent  tears  fall  trickling  from  my  eyes. 

I  go,  ye  nymphs  I  those  rocks  and  seas  to  prove; 

How  much  I  fear,  but  ah,  how  much  I  love ! 

I  go,  ye  nymphs!  where  furious  love  inspires; 

Let  female  fears  submit  to  female  fires. 

To  rocks  and  seas  I  fly  from  Phaon's  hate, 

And  hope  from  seas  and  rocks  a  milder  fate. 

Ye  gentle  gales,  beneath  my  body  blow, 

And  softly  lay  me  on  the  waves  below ! 

And  thou,  kind  Love  my  sinking  limbs  sustain, 

Spread  thy  soft  wings,  and  wraft  me  o'er  the  main, 

Nor  let  a  lover's  death  the  guiltless  flood  profane  1 

On  Phoebus'  shrine  my  harp  I'll  then  bestow, 

And  this  inscription  shall  be  placed  below: 

"Here  she  who  sung,  to  him  that  did  inspire, 

Sappho  to  Phoebus  consecrates  her  lyre ; 

What  suits  with  Sappho,  Phoebus,  suits  with  thee; 

The  gift,  the  giver,  and  the  God  agree." 

But  why,  alas,  relentless  youth,  ah,  why 
To  distant  seas  must  tender  Sappho  fly? 
Thy  charms  than  those  may  far  more  powerful  be, 
And  Phoebus'  self  is  less  a  god  to  me. 
Ah,  canst  thou  doom  me  to  the  rocks  and  sea, 
Oh,  far  more  faithless  and  more  hard  than  they? 
Ah,  canst  thou  rather  see  this  tender  breast 
Dashed  on  these  rocks  than  to  thy  bosom  prest? 
This  breast  which  once,  in  vain !  you  liked  so  well; 
Where  the  loves  played,  and  where  the  muses  dwell. 
Alas!  the  muses  now  no  more  inspire, 
Untuned  my  lute,  and  silent  is  my  lyre, 
My  lanquid  numbers  have  forgot  to  flow, 
And  fancy  sinks  beneath  a  weight  of  woe. 
Ye  Lesbian  virgins,  and  ye  Lesbian  dames, 
Themes  of  my  verse,  and  objects  of  my  flames, 
No  more  your  groves  with  my  glad  songs  shall  ring, 


436  TRANSLATIONS. 

Return,  fair  youth,  return,  and  bring  along 

Joy  to  my  soul,  and  vigour  to  my  song: 

Absent  from"  thee,  the  poet's  flame  expires; 

But  ah,  how  fiercely  burn  the  lover's  fires! 

Gods !  can  no  prayers,  no  sighs,  no  numbers  move 

One  savage  heart,  or  teach  it  how  to  love  ? 

The  winds  my  prayers,  my  sighs,  my  numbers  bear; 

The  flying  winds  have  lost  them  all  in  air ! 

Oh,  when,  alas !  shall  more  auspicious  gales 

To  these  fond  eyes  restore  thy  welcome-  sails? 

If  you  return — ah,  why  these  long  delays  ? 

Poor  Sappho  dies  while  careless  Phaon  stays. 

O,  launch  thy  bark,  nor  fear  the  watery  plain ; 

Yenus  for  thee  shah1  smooth  her  native  main. 

O,  launch  thy  bark,  secure  of  prosp'rous  gales ; 

Cupid  for  thee  shall  spread  the  swelling  sails. 

ir  you  will  fly — (yet  ah !  what  cause  can  be, 

Too  cruel  youth,  that  you  should  fly  from  me  ?) 

If  not  from  Phaon  I  must  hope  for  ease, 

Ah,  let  me  seek  it  from  the  raging  seas: 

To  raging  seas  unpitied  I'll  remove, 

And  either  cease  to  live  or  cease  to  love! 


THE  FABLE  OF  DRYOPE.1 

FROM   THE   NINTH    BOOK   OF   OVID'S   METAMORPHOSES. 

SHE  said,  and  for  her  lost  Galanthis a  sighs, 
When  the  fair  consort3  of  her  son  replies: 
"  Since  you  a  servant's  ravished  form  bemoan, 
And  kindly  sigh  for  sorrows  not  your  own, 
Let  me  (if  tears  and  grief  permit)  relate 
A  nearer  woe,  a  sister's  stranger  fate. 

1  Upon  the  occasion  of  the  death  of  Hercules,  his  mother  Alcmena 
Recounts  her  misfortunes  to    lole,  who    answers    with  a  relation 
of  those  of  her  own  family,  in  particular  the  transformation  of  her 
sister  Dryope,  which  is  the  subject  of  the  ensuing  fable. — Pope. 

2  Galanthis  was  a  female  servant  of  Alcmena,  who  attended  at  the 
birth  of  Hercules.    She  was  .changed   into   a    weasel    by    Lucina 
f.nd  Juno,   in  consequence   of    having    defeated  their  schemes  to 
kill  the  infant.    Alcmona  had  been  bewailing  this  transformation  to 
Sole,  3  lole. 


TRANSLATIONS.  437 

No  nymph  of  all  GEchalia  could  compare 
For  beauteous  form  with  Dryope  the  fair, 
Her  tender  mother's  only  hope  and  pride, 
(Myself  the  offspring  of  a  second  bride.) 
This  nymph  compressed  by  him  who  rules  the  day, 
Whom  Delphi  and  the  Delian  isle  obey,1 
Andrsemon  loved;  and,  blessed  in  all  those  charms 
That  pleased  a  god,  succeeded  to  her  arms. 

A  lake  there  was,  with  shelving  banks  around, 
Whose  verdant  summit  fragrant  myrtles  crowned; 
The  shades,  unknowing  of  the  fates,  she  sought, 
And  to  the  Naiads  flow'ry  garlands  brought; 
Her  smiling  babe  (a  pleasing  charge)  she  prest 
Within  her  arms,  and  nourished  at  her  breast. 
Not  distant  far  a  wat'ry  lotos  grows, 
The  spring  was  new,  and  all  the  verdant  boughs 
Adorned  with  blossoms  promised  fruits  that  vie 
In  glowing' colours  with  the  Tyrian  dye: 
Of  these  she  cropp'd,  to  please  her  infant  son, 
And  I  myself  the  same  rash  act  had  done: 
But  lo !  I  saw  (as  near  her  side  I  stood) 
The  violated  blossoms  drop  with  blood; 
Upon  the  tree  I  cast  a  frightful  look; 
The  trembling  tree  with  sudden  horror  shook. 
Lotis  the  nymph  (  if  rural  tales  be  true) 
As  from  Priapus'  lawless  lust  she  flew, 
Forsook  her  form;  and  fixing  here  became 
A  flow'ry  plant,  which  still  preserves  her  name. 
This  change  unknown,  astonished  at  the  sight, 
My  trembling  sister  strove  to  urge  her  flight; 
And  first  the  pardon  of  the  nymphs  implored, 
And  those  offended  sylvan  pow'rs  adored: 
But  when  she  backward  would  have  fled,  she  found 
Her  stiff 'ning  feet  were  rooted  in  the  ground: 
In  vain  to.  free  her  fastened  feet  she  strove, 
And,  as  she  struggles,  only  moves  above: 
She  feels  th'  encroaching  bark  around  her  grow 
By  quick  degrees,  and  cover  ah1  below; 
Surprised  at  this,  her  trembling  hand  she  heaves 
To  rend *her  hair;  her  hand  is  filled  with  leaves: 
Where  late  was  hair  xhe  shooting  leaves  are  seen 
To  rise,  and  shade  her  with  a  sudden  green. 
The  child  Amphissus,  to  her  bosom  prest, 

»  Apollo. 


438  TRANSLATIONS. 

Perceived  a  colder  and  a  harder  breast, 

And  found  the  springs,  that  ne'er  till  then  denied 

Their  milky  moisture,  on  a  sudden  dried. 

I  saw,  unhappy !  what  I  now  relate, 

And  stood  the  helpless  witness  of  thy  fate, 

Embraced  thy  boughs,  thy  rising  bark  delayed, 

There  wish'd  to  grow,  and  mingle  shade  with  shade. 

Behold  Andrsemon  and  th'  unhappy  sire 
Appear  and  for  their  Dryope  inquire: 
A  springing  tree  for  Dryope  they  find, 
And  print  warm  kisses  on  the  panting  rind. 
Prostrate  with  tears  their  kindred  plant  bedew, 
And  close  embrace  as  to  the  roots  they  grew. 
The  face  was  all  that  now  remain'd  of  thee, 
No  more  a  woman,  not  yet  quite  a  tree; 
Thy  branches  hung  with  humid  pearls  appear, 
From  ev'ry  leaf  distils  a  trickling  tear, 
And  straight  a  voice,  while  yet  a  voice  remains, 
Thus  through  the  trembling  boughs  in  sighs  com- 

"  If  to  the  wretched  any  faith  be  giv'n,         [plains. 
I  swear,  by  all  the  unpitying  powers  of  heav'n, 
No  wilful  crime  this  heavy  vengeance  bred: 
In  mutual  innocence  our  lives  we  led: 
If  this  be  false,  let  these  new  greens  decay,- 
Let  sounding  axes  lop  my  limbs  away, 
And  crackling  flames  on  all  my  honours  prey. 
But  from  my  branching  arms  this  infant  bear. 
Let  some  kind  nurse  supply  a  mother's  care: 
And  to  his  mother  let  him  oft  be  led 
Sport  in  her  shades,  and  in  her  shades  be  "fed; 
Teach  him,  when  first  his  infant  voice  shall  frame 
Imperfect  words,  and  lisp  his  mother's  name, 
To  hail  this  tree,  and  say  with  weeping  eyes, 
'  Within  this  plant  my  hapless  parent  lies : J 
And  when  in  youth  he  seeks  the  shady  woods, 
Oh !  let  him  fly  the  crystal  lakes  and  floods, 
Nor  touch  the  fatal  flow'rs;  but  warned  by  me, 
Believe  a  goddess  shrined  in  every  tree. 
My  sire,  my  sister,  and  my  spouse,  farewell ! 
If  in  your  breasts  or  love  or  pity  dwell, 
Protect  your  plant,  nor  let  my  branches  feel 
The  browzing  cattle  or  the  piercing  steel. 
Farewell !  and  since  I  cannot  bend  to  join 
My  lips  to  yours,  advance  at  least  to  mine. 


TRANSLATIONS.  439 

My  son,  thy  mother's  parting  kiss  receive, 
While  yet  thy  mother  has  a  kiss  to  give. 
I  can  no  more;  the  creeping  rind  invades 
My  closing  lips,  and  hides  my  head  in  shades; 
Remove  your  hands,  the  bark  shall  soon  suffice 
Without  their  aid  to  seal  these  dying  eyes." 

She  ceased  at  once  to  speak,  and  ceased  to  be; 
And  all  the  nymph  was  lost  within  the  tree; 
Yet  latent  life  through  her  new  branches  reigned, 
And  long  the  plant  a  human  heat  retained. 


VEKTUMNUS  AND  POMONA. 

FROM   THE    FOURTEENTH    BOOK    OF   OVID'S    METAMORPHOSES. 

THE  fair  Pomona l  flourished  in  his  reign; 

Of  all  the  virgins  of  the  sylvan  train, 

None  taught  the  trees  a  nobler  race  to  bear, 

Or  more  improved  the  vegetable  care. 

To  her  the  shady  grove,  the  flow'ry  field, 

The  streams  and  fountains  no  delights  could  yield; 

'Twas  all  her  joy  the  rip'ning  fruits  to  tend, 

And  see  the  boughs  with  happy  burthens  bend. 

The  hook  she  bore  instead  of  Cynthia's  spear, 

To  lop  the  growth  of  the  luxuriant  year, 

To  decent  form  the  lawless  shoots  to  bringf 

And  teach  th'  obedient  branches  where  to  spring. 

Now  the  cleft  rind  inserted  grafts  receives, 

And  yields  an  offspring  more  than  nature  gives; 

Now  sliding  streams  the  thirsty  plants  renew. 

And  feed  their  fibres  with  reviving  dew. 

These  cares  alone  her  virgin  breast  employ, 

Averse  from  Venus  and  the  nuptial  joy. 

Her  private  orchards,  walled  on  ev'ry  side, 

To  lawless  sylvans  all  access  denied. 

How  oft  the  Satyrs  2  arid  the  wanton  Fauns, 

Who  haunt  the  forests,  or  frequent  the  lawns, 

The  god  whose  ensign  scares  the  birds  of  prcv, 

1  Pomona  was  a  Roman  deity,  presiding  over  fruit-trees. 

2  Satyrs  were  Greek  forest  deities.    Fauns,  their  Eoman  represent- 
atives, v      - ,  -    „ . 


440  TRANSLATIONS. 

And  old  Silenus, l  youthful  in  decay, . 
Employed  their  wiles,  and  unavailing  care, 
To  pass  the  fences,  and  surprise  the  fair ! 
Like  these,  Vertumnus 2  owned  his  faithful  flame, 
Like  these,  rejected  by  the  scornful  dame. 
To  gain  her  sight  a  thousand  forms  he  wears; 
And  first  a  reaper  from  the  fields  appears. 
Sweating  he  walks,  while  loads  of  golden  grain 
Oe'rcharge  the  shoulders  of  the  seeming  swain. 
Oft  o'er  his  back  a  crooked  scythe  is  laid, 
And  wreaths  of  hay  his  sun-burnt  temples  shade; 
Oft  in  his  hardened  hand  a  goad  he  bears, 
Like  one  who  late  unyoked  the  sweating  steers. 
Sometimes  his  pruning-hook  corrects  the  vines, 
And  the  loose  stragglers  to  their  ranks  confines. 
Now  gath'ring  what  the  bounteous  year  allows, 
He  pulls  ripe  apples  from  the  bending  boughs. 
A  soldier  now,  he  with  his  sword  appears; 
A  fisher  next,  his  trembling  angle  bears; 
Each  shape  he  varies,  and  each  art  he  tries, 
On  her  bright  charms  to  feast  his  longing  eyes. 

A  female  form  at  last  Vertumnus  wears, 
With  all  the  marks  of  rev'rend  age  appears, 
His  temples  thinly  spread  with  silver  hairs; 
Propped  on  his  staff,  and  stooping  as  he  goes, 
A  painted  mitre  shades  his  furrowed  brows. 
The  god  in  this  decrepit  form  arrayed 
The  gardens  entered,  and  the  fruit  surveyed; 
And  "  Happy  you!  (he  thus  addressed  the  maid.) 
Whose  charms  as  far  all  other  nymphs'  outshine, 
As  other  other  gardens  are  excelled  by  thine ! " 
Then  kissed  the  fair,  (his  kisses  warmer  grow 
Than  such  as  women  on  their  sex  bestow.) 
Then,  placed  beside  her  on  the  flowery  ground, 
Beheld  the  trees  with   autumn's  bounty  crowned. 
An  elm  was  near,  to  whose  embraces  led, 
The  curling  vine  her  swelling  clusters  spread: 
He  viewed  her  twining  branches  with  delight, 
And  praised  the  beauty  of  the  pleasing  sight. 

"Yet  this  tall  elm,  but  for  his  vine"  (he  said) 
"  Had  stood  neglected,  and  a  barren  shade ; 

1  fcjilenus  was  a  demi-god,  said  to  be  the  son  of  Pan.  He  was 
the  nurse  an- 1  attendant  of  Bacchus.  The  Satyrs  and  Fauns  are 
sometimes  called  Sileni. 

*  A  deity  who  ruled  over  the  spring  and  vegetation. 


TRANSLATIONS.  441 

ifchts  fair  vine  but  that  her  arms  surround 
Her  married  elm,  had  crept  along  the  ground. 
Ah!  beauteous  maid,  let  this 'example  move 
Your  mind,  averse  from  all  the  joys  of  love. 
Deign  to  be  loved,  and  every  heart  subdue ! 
What  nymph  could  e'er  attract  such  crowds  as  you  ? 
Not  she  whose  beauty  urged  the  centaur's  arms, 1 
Ulysses  queen,2  nor  Helen's  fatal  charms. 
E'en  now,  when  silent  scorn  is  all  they  gain, 
A  thousand  court  you,  though  they  court  in  vain; 
A  thousand   sylvans,  demigods,  and  gods, 
That  haunt  our  mountains  and  our  Alban  woods. 
But  if  you'll  prosper,  mark  what  I  advise, 
Whom  age  and  long  experience  render  wise. 
And  one  whose  tender  care  is  far  above 
All  that  these  lovers  ever  felt  of  love, 
(Far  more  than  e'er  can  by  yourself  be  guessed,) 
Fix  on  Yertumnus,  and  reject  the  rest. 
For  his  firm  faith  I  dare  engage  my  own; 
Scarce  to  himself  himself  is  better  known. 
To  distant  lands  Vertumnus  never  roves; 
Like  you,  contented  with  his  native  groves; 
Not  at  first  sight,  like  most,  admires  the  fair; 
For  you  he  lives;  and  you  alone  shall  share 
His  last  affection  as  his  early  care. 
Besides,  he's  lovely  far  above  the  rest, 
With  youth  immortal,  and  with  beauty  blest. 
Add,  that  he  varies  ev'ry  shape  with  ease, 
And  tries  all  forms  that  may  Pomona  please. 
But  what  should  most  excite  a  mutual  flame, 
Your  rural  cares  and  pleasures  are  the  same. 
To  him  your  orchard's  early  fruits  are  due; 
(A  pleasing  off 'ring  when  'tis  made  by  you) 
He  values  these;  but  yet,  alas!  complains, 
That  still  the  best  and  dearest  gift  remains. 
Not  the  fair  fruit  that  on  yon  branches  glows 
With  that  ripe  red  th'  autumnal  sun  bestows; 
Nor  tasteful  herbs  that  in  these  gardens  rise, 
Which  the  kind  soil  with  milky  sap  supplies; 
You,  only  you,  can  move  the  god's  desire: 
Oh,  crown  so  constant  and  so  pure  a  fire ! 

i  Hippodamia,  or  Deidamia.    She  was   the'  cause   of   the   figh$ 
between  the  Centaurs  and  Lapithse. 

2  Penelope, 


442  TRANSLATIONS. 

Let  soft  compassion  touch  your  gentle  inind; 

Think,  'tis  Vertumnus  begs  you  to  be  kind ! 

So  may  no  frost,  when  early  buds  appear, 

Destroy  the  promise  of  the  youthful  year; 

Nor  winds,  when  first  your  norid  orchard  blows, 

Shake  the  light  blossoms  from  their  blasted  boughs/ 

This  when  the  various  god  had  urged  in  vain, 
He  straight  assumed  his  native  form  again ; 
Such,  and  so  bright  an  aspect  now  he  bears, 
As  when  through  clouds  th'  emerging  sun  appears, 
And  thence  exerting  his  refulgent  ray, 
Dispels  the  darkness,  and  reveals  the  day. 
Force  he  prepared,  but  checked  the  rash  design ; 
For  when  appearing  in  a  form  divine, 
The  nymph  surveys  him,  and  beholds  the  grace 
Of  charming  features,  and  a  youthful  face, 
In  her  soft  breast  consenting  passions  move, 
And  the  warm  maid  confessed  a  mutual  love. 


IMITATIONS   OF   ENGLISH 
POETS. 

DONE  BY  THE  AUTHOR  IN  HIS  YOUTH. 


I.— WALLER.1 
OF  A  LADY  SINGING  TO  HER  LUTE. 

FAIR  charmer,  cease,  nor  make  your  voice's  prize, 
A  heart  resigned,  the  conquest  of  your  eyes: 
Well  might,  alas !  that  threatened  vessel  fail, 
Which  winds  and  lightning  both  at  once  assail. 
We  were  too  blest  with  these  enchanting  lays, 
Which  must  be  heav'nly  when  an  angel  plays: 
But  killing  charms  your  lover's  death  contrive, 
Lest  heav'nly  music  should  be  heard  alive. 
Orpheus  could  charm  the  trees,  but  thus  a  tree, 
Taught  by  your  hand,  can  charm  no  less  than  he: 
A  poet  made  the  silent  wood  pursue, 
This  vocal  wood  has  drawn  the  poet  too. 


ON  A  FAN  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S  DESIGN.2 

IN    WHICH    WAS    PAINTED    THE    STORY   OF    CEPHALUS3    AND    PROCRIS, 
WITH   THE   MOTTO,    AURA    VENI. 

"  Come,  gentle  air !  "  th'  .ZEolian  shepherd  said, 
While  Procris  panted  in  the  secret  shade: 
"  Come,  gentle  air,"  the  fairer  Delia  cries, 
While  at  her  feet  her  swain  expiring  lies. 


1  The  poet  Waller  was  born  1605,  died  1687.    English  versification 
was  much  smoothed  by  Waller. 

2  Given  to  Martha  Blount. 

3  Cephalus  was  a  beautiful  JEolian  shepherd,  fond  of  hunting.    He 
waa  wont,  when  heated  and  Jatigued  by  the  chase,  to  seels  a  shady 


444    IMITATIONS   OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Lo,  the  glad  gales  o'er  all  her  beauties  stray, 

Breathe  on  her  lips,  and.  in  her  bosom  play ! 

In  Delia's  hand  this  toy  is  fatal  found, 

Nor  could  that  fatal  dart  more  surely  wound: 

Both  gifts  destructive  to  the  giver  prove  ; 

Alike  both  lov  rs  fall  by  those  they  love. 

Yet  guiltless  too  this  bright  destroyer  lives, 

At  random  wounds,  nor  knows  the  wound  she  gives: 

She  views  the  story  with  attentive  eyes, 

And  pities  Procris,  while  her  lover  dies. 


II.— COWLEY.1 
THE    GAEDEN. 

FAIN  would  my  muse  the  flow'ry  treasures  sing 
And  humble  glories  of  the  youthful  spring  ; 
Where  owning  roses  breathing  sweets  diffuse, 
And  soft  carnations  shower  their  balmy  dews  ; 
Where  lilies  smile  in  virgin  robes  of  white, 
The  thin  undress  of  superficial  light, 
And  varied  oilips  show  so  dazzling  gay, 
Blushing  in  bright  diversities  of  day. 
Each  painted  flow'ret  in  the  lake  below 
Surveys  its  beauties,  whence  its  beauties  grow; 
And  pale  Narcissus2  on  the  bank,  in  vain 
Transformed,  gazes  on  himself  again. 
Here  aged  trees  cathedral  walks  compose, 
And  mount  the  hill  in  venerable  rows: 
There  the  green  infants  in  their  beds  are  laid, 
The  garden's  hope,  and  its  expected  shade. 

covert  to  enjoy  the  breeze  which  he  would  invoke  with  the  words 
"  Come,  gentle  Air."  A  gossip  hearing  the  words,  thought  he  called 
on  some  nymph,  and  went  and  told  his  wife  Procris.  Her  jealousy 
was  roused,  and  she  stole  into  the  thicket  to  watch  him.  Hearing 
him  call  on  the  "  air,"  *'  Aura,"  which  she  thought  a  woman's  name, 
sfte  uttered  a  sob.  Cephalus,  thinking  he  heard  a  wild  animal 
in  the  thicket,  discharged  a  javelin  at  it,  and  heard  a  human  cry. 
On  hurrying  to  the  spot,  he  found  his  beloved  wife  dying.  She 
besought  him  as  a  last  request  not  to  wed  "Aura,"  and  thus  the  mis- 
take was  revealed  to  him. 

1  Abraham  Cowley  was  born  1618,  died  1667.    A  moral  poet,  but  his 
poems  were  full  of  conceits,  and  are  tedious  and  affected. 

2  Narcissus,  a  beautiful  youth,  who  fell  in  love  with  his  own  image 
iii  a  brook,  and  was  transformed  into  the  flower  that  bears  his  name. 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    443 

Here  orange  trees  with  blooms  and  pendants  shine, 
And  vernal  honours  to  their  autumn  join  ; 
Exceed  their  promise  in  their  ripened  store, 
Yet  in  the  rising  blossom  promise  more. 
There  in  bright  drops  the  crystal  fountains  play, 
By  laurels  shielded  from  the  piercing  day  ; 
Where  Daphne,  now  a  tree  as  once  a  maid,1 
Still  from  Apollo  vindicates  her  shade, 
Still  turns  her  beauties  from  th'  invading  beam, 
Nor  seeks  in  vain  for  succour  to  the  stream. 
The  stream  at  once  preserves  her  virgin  leaves, 
At  once  a  shelter  from  her  boughs  receives, 
Where  summer's  beauty  midst  of  winter  stays, 
And  winter's  coolness  spite  of  summer's  rays. 


WEEPING. 

WHILE  Celia's  tears  make  sorrow  bright, 
Proud  grief  sits  swelling  in  her  eyes  ; 

The  sun,  next  those  the  fairest  light, 
Thus  from  the  ocean  first  did  rise: 

And  thus  through  mists  we  see  the  sun, 

Which  else  we  durst  not  gaze  upon. 

These  silver  drops,  like  morning  dew, 
Foretell  the  fervour  of  the  day: 

So  from  one  cloud  soft  show'rs  we  view 
And  blasting  lightnings  burst  away. 

The  stars  that  fall  from  Celia's  eye 

Declare  our  doom  in  drawing  nigh. 

The  baby  in  that  sunny  sphere 

So  like  a  Phaeton2  appears, 
That  heaven,  the  threatened  world  to  spare, 

Thought  fit  to  drown  him  in  her  tears: 
Else  might  the  ambitious  nymph  aspire, 
To  set,  like  him,  heav'n  too  on  fire. 

1  The  laurel  tree  into  which  Daphne  was  metamorphosed  when  she 
fled  from  Apollo. 

2  The  son  of  Apollo,  who  persuading  his  father  to  let  him  drive  the 
chariot  o£  the  sun,  set  the  earth  on  fire. 


446    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

III.— E.   OF   ROCHESTER.1 
ON  SILENCE. 


SILENCE  !  coeval  with  eternity  ; 
Thou  wert,  ere  Nature's  self  began  to  be, 
JTwas  one  vast  nothing,  all,  and  an  slept  fast  in  thee. 

n. 
Thine  was  the  sway,  ere  heaven  was  formed,  or 

earth, 

Ere  fruitful  thought  conceived  creation's  birth, 
Or  midwife  word  gave  aid,  and  spoke  the  infant  forth. 

in. 

Then  various  elements,  against  thee  joined, 
In  one  more  various  animal  combined, 
And  framed  the  clam'rous  race  of  busy  human-kind. 

IV. 

The  tongue  moved  gently  first,  and  speech  was  low, 
Till  wrangling  science  taught  it  noise  and  show. 
And  wicked  wit  arose,  thy  most  abusive  foe. 

v. 

But  rebel  wit  deserts  thee  oft  in  vain  ; 
Lost  in  the  maze  of  words  he  turns  again, 
And  seeks  a  surer  state,  and  courts  thy  gentle  reign, 

VL 

Afflicted  sense  thou  kindly  dost  set  free, 
Oppressed  with  argumental  tyranny, 
And  routed  reason  finds  a  safe  retreat  in  thee. 

i  John  Wilmot,  Earl  of  Rochester,  born  1647,  died  1680.  He  was  a 
favourite  of  Charles  II.,  and  was  considered  a  wit  and  clever 
satirical  poet;  but  his  poetry  was  coarse  and  profane,  and  is 
now  happily  forgotten.  The  only  poem  well  known  now  of  Rochester 
Is  his  mock  epitaph  written  on  the  door  of  Charles  II. 's  bedroom—, 

Here  lies  our  sovereign  lord  the  king, 

Whose  word  no  man  relies  on ; 

Who  never  says  a  foolish  thing, 

Nor  ever  does  a  wise  one. 

Charles  (not  inferior  in  wit)  declared  the  epitaph  to  be  true: 
for  his  words  were  his  own,  his  acts  those  of  his  ministers. 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    447 


vn. 

With  thee  in  private  modest  dulness  lies, 
And  in  thy  bosom  lurks  in  thought's  disguise  ; 
Thou  varnisher  of  fools,  and  cheat  of  all  the  wise ! 

vni. 

Yet  thy  indulgence  is  by  both  confest ; 
Folly  by  thee  lies  sleeping  in  the  breast, 
And  'tis  in  thee  at  last  that  wisdom  seeks  for  rest. 


IX. 

Silence  the  knave's  repute,  the  w 's  good  name, 

The  only  honour  of  the  wishing  daine  ; 
Thy  very  want  of  tongue  makes  thee  a  kind  of  fame, 


But  couldst  thou  seize  some  tongues  that  now  are 

free, 

How  Church  and  State  should  be  obliged  to  thee ! 
At  senate,  and  at  bar,  how  welcome  wouldst  thou  be ! 

XL 

Yet  speech  even  there,  submissively  withdraws, 
From  rights  of  subjects,  and  the  poor  man's  cause; 
Then  pompous  silence  reigns,  and  stills  the  noisy 
laws. 

XII. 

Past  services  of  friends,  good  deeds  of  foes, 
What  favourites  gain,  and  what  the  nation  owes, 
Fly  the  forgetful  world,  and  in  thy  arms  repose. 

xin. 

The  country  wit,  religion  of  the  town, 
The  courtier's  learning,  policy  of  the  gown, 
Are  best  by  thee  expressed  ;  and  shine  in  thee  alona 

XIV. 

The  parson's  cant,  the  lawyer's  sophistry, 
Lord's  quibble,  critic's  jest ;  all  end  in  thee, 
All  rest  in  peace  at  last,  and  sleep  eternally. 


448    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

IV.— E.  OP  DORSET.1 
AETEMISIA.2 

THOUGH  Artemisia  talks,  by  fits, 
Of  councils,  classics,  fathers,  wits ; 

Heads  Malbrancbe,  Boyle,  and  Locke: 
Yet  in  some  tbings  methinks  sbe  fails, 
'Twere  well  if  she  would  pare  her  nails, 

And  wear  a  cleaner  smock. 

Haughty  and  huge  as  High-Dutch  bride, 
Such  nastiness,  and  so  much  pride 

Are  oddly  joined  by  fate: 
On  her  large  squab  you  find  her  spread, 
lake  a  fat  corpse  upon  a  bed, 

That  lies  and  stinks  in  state. 

She  wears  no  colours  (sign  of  grace) 
On  any  part  except  her  face  ; 

All  white  and  black  beside  ; 
Dauntless  her  look,  her  gesture  proud, 
Her  voice  theatrically  loud, 

And  masculine  her  stride. 

So  have  I  seen,  in  black  and  white 
A  prating  thing,  a  magpie  bight, 

Majestically  stalk  ; 
A  stately,  worthless  animal, 
That  plies  the  tongue,  and  wags  the  tail, 

All  flutter,  pride,  and  talk. 

1  "Lord  Dorset  was,"  says  Walpole,  "the  finest  gentleman  of  the 
voluptuous  court  of  Charles  II.,  and  in  the  gloomy  one  of  William  III. 
He  had  as  much  wit  as  his  first  master,  or  his  contemporaries  Bucking- 
ham and  Rochester,  without  the  royal  want  of  feeling,  the  duke's  want 
of  principle,  or  the  earl's  want  of  thought.  His  poems  have  sunk 
to  oblivion  for  the  general  public." 

*  By  Artemisia  Pope  is  thought  to  have  meant  Queen  Caroline. 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    449 


PHEYNE. 

PHEYNE  had  talents  for  mankind, 
Open  she  was,  and  unconfined, 

Like  some  free  port  of  trade: 
Merchants  unloaded  here  their  freight* 
And  agents  from  each  foreign  state, 

Here  first  their  entry  made. 

Her  learning  and  good  breeding  such, 
Whether  the  Italian  or  the  Dutch, 

Spaniards  or  French  came  to  her: 
To  all  obliging  she'd  appear: 
'Twas  Si  Signor,  'twas  Yaw  Mynheer, 

Twas  S'il  vous  plait,  Monsieur. 

Obscure  by  birth,  renowned  by  crimes, 
Ttill  changing  names,  religions,  climes, 

At  length  she  turns  a  bride : 
In  diamonds,  pearls,  and  rich  brocades, 
She  shines  the   first  of  battered  jades, 

And  flutters  in  her  pride. 

So  have  I  known  those  insects  fair 
(Which  curious  Germans  hold  so  rare) 

Still  vary  shapes  and  dyes; 
Still  gain  new  titles  with  new  forms; 
First  grubs  obscene,  then  wriggling  worms, 

Then  painted  butterflies. 


V— DR.  SWIFT.1 
THE  HAPPY  LIFE  OF  A  COUNTRY  PAESON. 

PARSON,  these  things  in  thy  possessing 
Are  better  than  the  bishop's  blessing. 
A  wife  that  makes  conserves  ;  a  steed 
That  carries  double  when  there's  need: 

1  Jonathan  Swift  (Dean),  born  1667,  died  1745.    He  was  the  intimate 

friend  of  Pope, 

*  • 


450    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS 

October  store,  and  best  Virginia, 
Tithe-pig,  and  mortuary  guinea : 
Gazettes  sent  gratis  down,  and  franked, 
For  which  thy  patron's  weekly  thanked: 
A  large  Concordance,  bound  long  since : 
Sermons  to  Charles  the  First,  when  Prince; 
A  chronicle  of  ancient  standing; 
A  Chrysostom  to  smooth  thy  band  in. 
The  Polyglot — three  parts, — my  text, 
Howbeit, — likewise — now  to  my  next. 
Lo  here  the  Septuagint, — and  Paul, 
To  sum  the  whole, — the  close  of  all 

He  that  has  these,  may  pass  his  life, 
Drink  with  the  squire,  and  kiss  his  wife; 
On  Sundays  preach,  and  eat  his  fill; 
And  fast  on  Fridays — if  he  will; 
Toast  Church  and  Queen,  explain  the  news 
Talk  with  church- wardens  about  pews, 
Pray  heartily  for  some  new  gift, 
And  shake  his  head  at  Doctor  S t 


451 

THE   TEMPLE   OF   FAME. 

1711. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  hint  of  the  following  piece  was  taken  from  Chaucer'i 
' l  House  of  Fame. "  The  design  is  in  a  manner  entirely  altered, 
the  descriptions  and  most  of  the  particular  thoughts  my  own : 
yet  I  could  not  suffer  it  to  be  printed  without  this  acknowledg- 
ment. The  reader  who  would  compare  this  with  Chaucer, 
may  begin  with  his  third  book  of  "  Fame,"  there  being  nothing 
in  the  two  first  books  that  answers  to  their  title :  wherever 
any  hint  is  taken  from  him,  the  passage  itself  is  set  down  in 
the  marginal  notes. 


IN  that  soft  season,  when  descending  shower's l 
Call  forth  the  greens,  and  wake  the  rising  flow'rs ; 
"When  opening  buds  salute  the  welcome  day, 
And  earth  relenting  feels  the  genial  ray  ; 
As  balmy  sleep  had  charmed  my  cares  to  rest, 
And  love  itself  was  banished  from  my  breast, 
(What  time  the  morn  mysterious  visions  brings, 
While  purer  slumbers  spread  their  golden  wings) 
A  train  of  phantoms  in  wild  order  rose, 
And,  joined,  this  intellectual  scene  compose. 

I  stood,  methought,  betwixt  earth,  seas,  and  skies; 
The  whole  creation  open  to  my  eyes: 
In  air  self-balanced  hung  the  globe  below, 
Where  mountains  rise  and  circling  oceans  flow ; 
Here  naked  rocks,  and  empty  wastes  were  seen, 
There  tow'ry  cities,  and  the  forests  green ; 
Here  sailing  ships  delight  the  wand'ring  eyes: 
There  trees,  and  intermingled  temples  rise; 
Now  a  clear  sun  the  shining  scene  displays, 
The  transient  landscape  now  in  clouds  decays. 

1  This  poem  is  introduced  in  the  manner  of  the  Provencal  poets, 
"whose  works  were  for  th«  most  part  visions,  or  pieces  of  imagination, 
and  constantly  descriptive.  From  these  Petrarch  and  Chaucer 
frequently  borrow  the  idea  of  their  poems.  See  the  "  Trionfi  "  of  the 
former,  and  the  "Dream,"  "Flower  and  the  Lejif,"  &c.,  of  the  Litter. 
Tlie  author  of  this  therefore  chose  the.  ^aine  sort  of  exordium,— 


452    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

O'er  the  wide  prospect  as  I  gazed  around, 
Sudden  I  heard  a  wild  promiscuous  sound, 
Like  broken  thunders  that  at  distance  roar, 
Or  billows  murm'ring  on  the  hollow  shore: 
Then  gazing  up,  a  glorious  pile  beheld, 
Whose  tpw'ring  summit  ambient  clouds  concealed. 
High  on  a  rock  of  ice  the  structure  lay, 
Steep  its  ascent,  and  slipp'ry  was  the  way ; 
The  wondrous  rock  like  Parian  marble  shone, 
And  seemed,  to  distant  sight,  of  solid  stone. 
Inscriptions  here  of  various  names  I  viewed, 
The  greater  part  by  hostile  time  subdued  ; 
Yet  wide  was  spread  their  fame  in  ages  past, 
And  poets  once  had  promised  they  should  last. 
Some  fresh  engraved  appeared  of  wits  renowned  ; 
I  looked  again  nor  could  their  trace  be  found. 
Critics  I  saw,  that  other  names  deface, 
And  fix  their  own,  with  labour,  in  their  place: 
Their  own,  like  others,  soon  their  place  resigned, 
Or  disappeared,  and  left  the  first  behind. 
Nor  was  the  work  impaired  by  storms  alone, 
But  felt  th'  approaches  of  too  warm  a  sun  ; 
For  Fame,  impatient  of  extremes,  decays 
Not  more  by  envy  than  excess  of  praise. 
Yet  part  no  injuries  of  heav'n  could  feeL 
Like  crystal  faithful  to  the  graving  steel: 
The  rock's  high  summit,  in  the  temple's  shade, 
Nor  heat  could  melt,  nor  beating  storm  invade. 
Their  names  inscribed  unnumbered  ages  past 
From  time's  first  birth,  with  time  itself  shall  last ; 
These  ever  new,  nor  subject  to  decays, 
Spread,  and  grow  brighter  with  the  length  of  days. 

So  Zembla's  rocks  (the  beauteous  work  of  frost)1 
Rise  white  in  air,  and  glitter  o'er  the  coast ; 
Pale  suns,  unfelt,  at  distance  roll  away, 
And  on  th'  impassive  ice  the  lightnings  play  ; 
Eternal  snows  the  growing  mass  supply, 

1  Though  a  strict  verisimilitude  be  not  required  in  the  description  of 
this  visionary  and  allegorical  kind  of  poetry,  which  admits  of  every 
wild  object  that  fancy  may  present  in  a  dream,  and  where  it  is  sufficient 
if  the  moral  meaning  atone  for  the  improbability,  yet  men  are  naturally 
so  desirous  of  truth,  thnt  a  reader  is  generally  pleased,  in  such  a  case, 
with  some  excuse  or  allusion  that  seems  to  reconcile  the  description  to 
probability  and  nature.  The  simile  here  is  of  that  sort,  and  renders  it 
not  wholly  unlikely  that  a  rock  of  ice  should  remain  for  ever,  by  men- 
tioning something  like  it  in  our  northern  regions  agreeing  with  \tb$ 
s  of  our  modern  travellers,— Pope, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    453 

Till  the  bright  mountains  prop  th'  incumbent  sky  : 
As  Atlas  fixed,  each  hoary  pile  appears, 
The  gathered  winter  of  a  thousand  years. 

On  this  foundation  Fame's  high  temple  stands  ; 
Stupendous  pile !  not  reared  by  mortal  hands. 
Whate'er  proud  Eome  or  artful  Greece  beheld, 
Or  elder  Babylon,  its  frame  excelled, 
Four  faces  had  the  dome,  and  every  face1 
Of  various  structure,  but  of  equal  grace: 
Four  brazen  gates,  on  columns  lifted  high, 
Salute  the  diff 'rent  quarters  of  the  sky. 
Here  fabled  chiefs  in  darker  ages  born, 
Or  worthies  old,  whom  arms  or  arts  adorn, 
WTho  cities  raised,  or  tamed  a  monstrous  race 
The  walls  in  venerable  order  grace : 
Heroes  in  animated  marble  frown, 
And  legislators  seem  to  think  in  stone. 

Westward,  a  sumptuous  frontispiece  appeared, 
On  Doric  pillars  of  white  marble  reared, 
Crowned  with  an  architrave  of  antique  mold, 
And  sculpture  rising  on  the  roughened  gold. 
In  shaggy  spoils  here  Theseus 2  was  beheld, 
And  Perseus  dreadful  with  Minerva's  shield:* 
There  great  Alcides4  stooping  with  his  toil, 
Eests  on  his  club,  and  holds  th'  Hesperian  spoil. 
Here  Orpheus  sings  ;  trees  moving  to  the  sound 
Start  from  their  roots,  and  form  a  shade  around: 
Amphion 5  there  the  loud  creating  lyre 
Strikes,  and  beholds  a  sudden  Thebes  aspire ! 

1  The  temple  is  described  to  be  square,  the  four  fronts  with  open 
gates  facing  the   different   quarters  of    the  world,  as  an  intimation 
that  all  nations  of  the  earth   may    alike  be    received  into  it.     The 
western  front  is  of  Grecian  architecture :  the  Doric  order  was  peculiar- 
ly sacred  to  heroes  and  worthies.     Those  whose  statues  are  after  men- 
tioned were  the  first  names  of  old  Greece  in  arms  and  arts. — Pope. 

2  The  Athenian  hero,  who  was  known  as  the  destroyer  of  monsters 
and  tyrants.     He  was  the  son  of  JEgeus,  King  of  Athens.    The  shaggy 
spoils  probably  allude  to  the  Minotaur,  which  he  killed,  and  thus  treed 
the  Athenians  from   the  tribute  of  human  victims  which  they  had 
to  yield  to  it. 

8  Perseus,  a  demi-god.  Minerva  lent  him  her  shield  to  fight  the 
Gorgon  Medusa.  When  he  had  slain  the  Gorgon,  he  cut  off  her  head, 
and  gave  it  to  Minerva,  who  fixed  it  in  her  .ZEgis  or  shield. 

That  snaky-headed  Gorgon  shield 

That  wise  Minerva  wore  ;  unconquered  virgin  : 

Wherewith  she  freezed  her  foes  to  congealed  stone.-' 

4  Hercules.  The  "Hesperian  spoil"  was  the  golden  apples  of  the 
Hesperides.  "The  figure  of  Hercules  is  drawn  with  an  eye  to  the 
position  of  the  famous  statute  of  Farnese." — Pope. 

6  See  notes  to  the  ''Thebuis." 


454    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Cithseron's  echoes  answer  to  his  call, 

And  half  the  mountain  rolls  into  a  waL 

There  might  you  see  the  length'ning  spires  ascend, 

The  domes  swell  up,  the  widening  arches  bend, 

The  growing  tow'rs,  like  exhalations  rise, 

And  the  huge  columns  heave  into  the  skies. 

The  eastern  front  was  glorious  to  behold, 
With  di'mond  flaming  and  Barbaric  gold. 
There  Ninus  shone,  who  spread  th5  Assyrian  fame, 
And  the  great  founder  of  the  Persian  name : l 
There  in  long  robes  the  royal  Magi  stand, 
Grave  Zoroaster  waves  the  circling  wand, 
The  sage  Chaldeans  robed  in  white  appeared, 
And  Brahmans,  deep  in  desert  woods  revered. 
These  stopped  the  moon,  and  called  the  unbodied 

shades 

To  midnight  banquets  in  the  glimm'ring  glades  ; 
Made  visionary  fabrics  round  them  rise, 
And  airy  spectres  skim  before  their  eyes ; 
Of  Talismans  and  Sigils  knew  the  power, 
And  careful  watched  the  planetary  hour. 
Superior,  and  alone,  Confucius  stood,2 
Who  taught  that  useful  science,  to  be  good. 

But  on  the  south,  a  long  majestic  race 
Of  Egypt's  priests  the  gilded  niches  grace,3 
Who  measured  earth,  described  the  starry  spheres, 
And  traced  the  long  records  of  lunar  years. 
High  on  his  car  Sesostris  struck  my  view, 
Whom  sceptered  slaves  in  golden  harness  drew: 
His  hands  a  bow  and  pointed  javelin  hold; 
His  giant  limbs  are  armed  in  scales  of  gold. 

1  Cyrus  was  the  beginner  of  the  Persian  as  Ninus  of  the  Assyrian 
monarchy.    The  Magi  and  the  Chaldeans   (the  chief  of  whom   was 
Zoroaster)  employed  their  studies  upon  magic  and  astrology,  which 
was  in  a  manner  almost  all  the  learning  of  the  ancient  Asian  people. 
We  have  scarce  any  account  of  a  moral  philosopher  except  Confucius, 
the  great  law-giver  of  the  Chinese  who  lived  ahout  two  thousand 
years  ago. — Pope. 

2  Congfutzee,   for  that    was  his  real  name,  flourished   just  before 
Pythagoras,     He  taught  justice,  obedience  to  parents,  humility,  and 
universal  benevolence.    He  practised  these  virtues  when  a  first  minis- 
ter, and  when  reduced  to  poverty  and  exile. — Warton. 

3  The  learning  of  the  old  Egyptian  priests  consisted  of  the  most  part 
in  geometry  and  astronomy :  they  also  preserved  the  history  of  their 
nation.    Their  greatest  hero  upon  record  is  Sesostris,  whose  actions 
and  conquests  may  be  seen  at  large  in  "Diodorus,"  &c.    He  is  said  tD 
have  caused  the  kings  he  vanquished  to  draw  him  in  his  chariot.    The 
posture  of  his  statue,  in  these  verses,  is  correspondent  to  ^he  descrip- 
tion which  Herodotus  gives  of  one  of  them  remaining  in  his  own  time. 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    455 

Between  the  statues  obelisks  were  placed, 

And  the  learned  walls  with  hieroglyphics  graced. 

Of  Gothic  structure  was  the  northern  side, l 
O'erwrought  with  ornaments  of  barb'rous  pride. 
There  huge  colosses  rose,  with  trophies  crowned, 
And  Runic  characters  were  graved  around. 
There  sate  Zamolxis  with  erected  eyes, 
And  Odin  here  in  mimic  trances  dies. 
There  on  rude  iron  columns,  smeared  with  blood, 
The  horrid  forms  of  Scythian  heroes  stood, 
Druids  and  bards2  (their  once  loud  harps  unstrung) 
And  youths  that  died  to  be  by  poets  sung. 
These  and  a  thousand  more  of  doubtful  fame, 
To  whom  old  fables  gave  a  lasting  name, 
In  ranks  adorned  the  temple's  outward  face; 
The  wall  in  lustre  and  effect  like  glass, 
Which  o'er  each  object  casting  various  dyes, 
Enlarges  some,  and  others  multiplies: 
Nor  void  of  emblem  was  the  mys;  i.o  wail, 
For  thus  romantic  fame  increases  all. 

The  temple  shakes,  the  sounding  gates  unfold, 
Wide  vaults  appear,  and  roofs  of  fretted  gold: 
Raised  on  a  thousand  pillars,  wreathed  around 
With  laurel  foliage,  and  with  eagles  crowned: 
Of  bright,  transparent  beryl  were  the  walls, 
The  friezes  gold,  and  gold  the  capitals: 
As  heav'n  with  stars,  the  roof  with  jewels  glows, 
And  ever-living  lamps  depend  in  rows. 
Full  in  the  passage  of  each  spacious  gate, 
The  sage  historians  in  white  garments  wait; 
Graved  o'er  their  seats  the  form  of  Time  was  found, 
His  scythe  reversed,  and  both  his  pinions  bound. 
Within  stood  heroes,  who  through  loud  alarms 
In  bloody  fields  pursued  renown  in  arms. 

1  The  architecture  is  agreeable  to  that  part  of  the  world.    The  learn- 
ing of  the  northern  nations  lay  more  obscure  than  that  of  the  rest; 
Zamolxis  was  the  disciple  of  Pythagoras,  who  taught  the  immortality 
of  the  soul  to  the  Scythians.    Odin,  or  Woden,  was  the  great  legislator 
and  hero  of  the  Goths.     They  tell  us  of  him.  that  being  subject  to  fits, 
he  persuaded   his  followers,  that  during  those  trances   he  received 
inspirations,  from  whence  he  dictated  his  laws  .  he  is  said  to  have  been 
the  inventor  of  the  Runic  characters. — Pope. 

2  These  were  the  priests  and  poets  of  those  people,  so  celebrated  for 
their  savage  virtue.    Those  heroic  barbarians  accounted  it  a  dishonour 
to  die  in  their  beds,  and  rushed  on  to  certain  death  in  the  prospect  of 
an  after  life,  and  for  the  glory  of  a  song  from  their  bards  in.  praise  of 
their  actions.— Pop*, 


456     IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

High  on  a  throne  with  trophies  charged,  I  viewed 
The  youth  that,  all  things  but  himself  subdued;1 
His  feet  on  sceptres  and  tiaras  trod, 
And  his  horned  head  belied  the  Libyan  God. 
There  CEesar,  graced  with  both  Minervas, 2  shone; 
Caesar,  the  world's  great  master,  and  his  own; 
Unmoved,  superior  still  in  every  state, 
And  scarce  detested  in  his  country's  fate. 
But  chief  were  those,  who  not  for  empire  fought, 
But  with  their  toils  their  people's  safety  bought: 
High  o'er  the  rest  Epaminondas3  stood; 
Timoleon,  glorious  in  his  brother's  blood;4 
Bold  Scipio,  saviour  of  the  Roman  state; 
Great  in  his  triumphs,  in  retirement  great; 
And  wise  AureL    ^5  "n  vhose  well-taught  mind 
With  boundless  power  unbounded  virtue  joined, 
His  own  strict  fudge,  and  patron  of  mankind. 

Much-suff'ring  heroes  next  their  honours  claim, 
Those  of  less  noisy,  and  less  guilty  fame, 
Fair  virtue's  silent  train:  supreme  of  these 
Here  ever  shines  the  god-like  Socrates: 
He  whom  ungrateful  Athens  could  expel, 6 
At  all  times  just,  but  when  he  signed  the  shell: 
Here  his  abode  the  martyred  Phocion  claims,7 
With  Agis,8  not  the  last  of  Spartan  names: 

1  Alexander  the  Great:    the  Tiara  was  the  crown  peculiar  to  the 
Asian  princes :  his  desire,  to  be  thought  the  sou  of  Jupiter  A  mmon, 
caused  him  to  wear  the  horns  of  that  god,  and  to  represent  the  same 
upon  his  coins;  which  was  continued  by  several  of  his  successors. 
— Pope. 

2  The  warlike  and  learned. 

3  The  great  Theban  general,  in  whom  all  the  virtues  were  united, 
who  won  the  battles  of  Leuctra  and  Mantinea. 

4  Timoleon  had  saved  the  life  of  his  brother  Timophanes  in  the 
battle  between  the  Argivesand  Corinthians :  but  afterwards  killed  him 
when  he  affected  the  tyranny,  preferring  his  duty  to  his  country  to  all 
the  obligations  of  blood.— Pope. 

5  E-nperor  of  Rome. 

6  Aristides,  who  for  his  great  integrity  was  distinguished  by  the 
appellation  of  the  Just.    When  his  countrymen  would  have  banished 
him  by  the  Ostracism,  where  it  was  the  custom  for  every  man  to  sign 
the  name  of  the  person  he  voted  to  exile  in  an  oyster-shell,  a  peasant, 
who  could  not  write,  came  to  Aristides  to  do  it  for  him,  who  readily 
signed  his  own  name. — Pope. 

7  Who.  when  he  was  about  to  drink  the  hemlock,  charged  his  son  to 
forgive  his  enemies,  and  not  to  revenge  his  death  on  those  Athenians 
who  had  decreed  it. — Warton. 

8  Agis,  king  of  Sparta,  was  beheaded  because  he  tried  to  restore  the 
ancient  discipline  of  Lycurgusi 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.     457 

Unconquered  Cato  shows  the  wound  he  tore,1 
And  Brutus  his  ill  genius  meets  no  more.2 

But  in  the  centre  of  the  hallowed  choir,3 
Six  pompous  columns  o'er  the  rest  aspire; 
Around  the  shrine  itself  of  Fame  they  stand, 
Hold  the  chief  honours,  and  the  fane  command. 
High  on  the  first,  the  mighty  Homer  shone; 
Eternal  Adamant  composed  his  throne; 
Father  of  verse !  in  holy  fillets  drest, 
His  silver  beard  waved  gently  o'er  his  breast; 
Though  blind,  a  boldness  in  his  looks  appears; 
In  years  he  seemed,  but  not  impaired  by  years. 
The  wars  of  Troy  were  round  the  pillar  seen : 
Here  fierce  Tydides*  wounds  the  Cyprian  Queen; 
Here  Hector  glorious  from  Patroclus'  fall, 
Here  dragged  in  triumph  round  the  Trojan  wall,5 
Motion  and  life  did  ev'ry  part  inspire, 
Bold  was  the  work,  and  proved  the  master's  fire ! 
A  strong  expression  most  he  seemed  t'  affect, 
And  here  and  there  disclosed  a  brave  neglect. 

A  golden  column  next  in  rank  appeared, 
On  which  a  shrine  of  purest  gold  AY  as  reared; 
Finished  the  whole,  and  laboured  ev'ry  part, 
With  patient  touches  of  unwearied  art: 
The  Mantuan 6  there  in  sober  triumph  sate, 
Composed  his  posture,  and  his  look  sedate; 
On  Homer  still  he  fixed  a  rev'rend  eye, 
Great  without  pride,  in  modest  majesty. 
In  living  sculpture  on  the  sides  were  spread 
The  Latian  Wars,  and  haughty  Turnus  dead; 
Eliza 7  stretched  upon  the  funeral  pyre, 
-ZEneas  bending  with  his  aged  sire : 8 

1  Cato  who  had  stabbed  himself  at  Utica  to  avoid  yielding  to  Caesar, 
tore  open  his  wound  after  it  had  -been  bound  up,  resolved  to  die. 

2  We  need  scarcely  remind  the  English  reader  of  the  "  evil  genius" 
which  appeared  to  Brutus  at  Philippi— so  grandly  told  by  Shakespeare 
in  "Julius  Caesar,"  Act.  4,  Sc.  3. 

3  In  the  midst  of  the  temple,  nearest  the  throne  of  fame,  are  placed 
the  greatest  names  in  learning  of  all  antiquity.    These  are  described  in 
such  attitudes  as  express  their  different   characters:    the  columns 
on  which  they  are  raised  are  adorned  with  sculptures,  taken  from  the 
most  striking  subjects  of  their  works;  which  sculpture  bears  a  resem- 
blance, in  its  manner  and  character,  to  the  manner  and  character 
of  their  writings. — Pope. 

<  Diomed.         6  Hector  dragged  by  Achilles.         6  Virgil.          *  Dido. 
8  JSneas  carrying  his  old  father  Anchises  from  the  flames  of  Troy. 


458    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Troy  flamed  in  burning  gold,  and  o'er  the  throne 
"ARMS  AND  THE  MAN"  in  golden  cyphers  shone. 

Four  swans  sustain  a  car  of  silver  bright,1 
With  heads  advanced,  and  pinions  stretched  for  flight: 
Here,  like  some  furious  prophet,  Pindar  rode, 
And  seemed  to  labour  with  th'  inspiring  God. 
Across  the  harp  a  careless  hand  he  flings, 
And  boldly  sinks  into  the  sounding  strings. 
The  figured  games  of  Greece  the  column  grace, 
Neptune  and  Jove  survey  the  rapid  race. 
The  youths  hang  o'er  their  chariots  as  they  run; 
The  fiery  steeds  seem  starting  from  the  stone; 
The  champions  in  distorted  postures  threat; 
And  all  appeared  irregularly  great. 

Here  happy  Horace   tuned  th'  Ausonian  lyre 
To  sweeter  sounds,  and  tempered  Pindar's  fire: 
Pleased  with  Alcaeus'  manly  rage  to  infuse 
The  softer  spirit  of  the  Sapphic  muse.* 
The  polished  pillar  diff 'rent  sculptures  grace; 
A  work  outlasting  monumental  brass. 
Here  smiling  loves  and  Bacchanals  appear, 
The  Julian  star,3  and  great  Augustus  here. 
The  doves  that  round  the  infant  poet  spread  4 
Myrtles  and  bays,  hung  hov'ring  o'er  his  head. 

Here  in  a  shrine  that  cast  a  dazzling  light, 
Sate  fixed  in  thought  the  mighty  Stagirite; 

1  Pindar  being  seated  in   a    chariot,   alludes  to    the  chariot  races 
he  celebrated  in    the    Grecian   Barnes.     The  swans  are    emblems  of 
poetry,  their  soaring  posture  intimates  the  sublimity  and  activity  of 
his  genius.    Neptune  presided  over  the  Isthmian,  and' Jupiter  over  the 
Olympian  games. — Warburton. 

2  This  expresses  the  mixed  character  of  the  odes  of  Horace.—  Bowles. 

3  See  Horace's  ode  to  Augustus. 

4  The  action  of  the  Doves  hints  at  a  passage  in  the  fourth  ode  of  hia 
third  book : 

"Me  fabulosa3  Vulture  in  Apulo, 
Alti  ?cis  extra  limen  Apuliae, 
Ludo  fatigatumque  sornno, 

Fronde  nova  pueruna  palumbes 
Texere;  mirum  quod  foret  omnibus — 
Ut  tuto  ab  atris  corpore  viperis 
Dormirem  et  ursis;  ut  premerer  sacra 
Lauroque  collataque  myrto, 

Non  sine  Diis  animosus  infans." 
Which  may  be  thus  Englished  : 

While  yet  a  child  I  chanced  to  stray 
And  in  a  desert  sleeping  lay; 
The  savage  race  withdrew,  nor  dared 
To  touch  the  Muses'  future  bard; 
But  Cytherea's  gentle  dove, 
Myrtles  and  bays  around  me  spread, 
And  crowned  your  infant  poet's  head, 
Sacred  to  Music  and  to  Love.— Pope. 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    459 

His  sacred  head  a  radiant  zodiac  crowned, 
And  various  animals  his  sides  surround; 
His  piercing  eyes,  erect,  appear  to  view 
Superior  worlds,  and  look  all  nature  through. 

With  equal  rays  immortal  Tully  shone,1 
The  Roman  Kostra  decked  the  Consul's  throne: 
Gathering  his  flowing  robe,  he  seemed  to  stand 
In  act  to  speak,  and  graceful  stretched  his  hand. 
Behind,  Eome's  genius  waits  with  civic  crowns, 
And  the  great  Father  of  his  country  owns. 

These  massy  columns  in  a  circle  rise, 
O'er  which  a  pompous  dome  invades  the  skies: 
Scarce  to  the  top  I  stretched  my  aching  sight, 
So  large  it  spread,  and  swelled  to  such  a  height. 
Full  in  the  midst  proud  Fame's  imperial  seat, 
With  jewels  blazed,  magnificently  great ; 
The  vivid  emeralds  there  revive  the  eye, 
The  flaming  rubies  show  their  sanguine  dye, 
Bright  azure  rays  from  lively  sapphires  stream, 
And  lucid  amber  casts  a  golden  gleam. 
With  various-colored  light  the  pavement  shone, 
And  all  on  fire  appeared  the  glowing  throne  ; 
The  dome's  high  arch  reflects  the  mingled  blaze, 
And  forms  a  rainbow  of  alternate  rays. 
When  on  the  goddess  first  I  cast  my  sight, 
Scarce  seemed  her  stature  of  a  cubit's  height ; 
But  swelled  to  larger  size,  the  more  I  gazed, 
Till  to  the  roof  her  tow'ring  front  she  raised, 
With  her,  the  temple  every  moment  grew, 
And  ampler  vistas  opened  to  my  view: 
Upward  the  columns  shoot,  the  roofs  ascend, 
And  arches  widen,  and  long  aisles  extend. 
Such  was  her  form  as  ancient  bards  have  told, 
Wings  raise  her  arms,  and  wings  her  feet  infold ; 
A  thousand  busy  tongues  the  goddess  bears, 
And  thousand  open  eyes,  and  thousand  list'ning  ears, 
Beneath,  in  order  ranged,  the  tuneful  Nine 
(Her  virgin  handmaids)  still  attend  the  shrine: 
With  eyes  on  Fame  for  ever  fixed,  they  sing  ; 
For  Fame  they  raise  the  voice,  and  tune  the  string  ; 
With  time's  first  birth  began  the  heav'nly  lays, 
,i&d  last,  eternal,  through  the  length  of  days. 

Around  these  wonders  as  I  cast  a  look, 

*  TVe  greatest  of  Roman  orators. 


4GO    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

The  trumpet  sounded,  and  the  temple  shook, 

And  all  the  nations,  summoned  at  the  call, 

From  diff'rent  quarters  fill  the  crowded  hall: 

Of  various  tongues  the  mingled  sounds  were  heard  ; 

In  various  garbs  promiscuous  throngs  appeared  • 

Thick  as  the  bees,  that  with  the  spring  renew 

Their  flow'ry  toils,  and  sip  the  fragrant  dew, 

When  the  winged  colonies  first  tempt  the  sky, 

O'er  dusky  fields  and  shaded  waters  fly, 

Or  settling,  seize  the  sweets  the  "blossoms  yield, 

And  a  low  murmur  runs  along  the  field. 

Millions  of  suppliant  crowds  the  shrine  attend, 

And  all  degrees  before  the  goddess  bend  ; 

The  poor,  the  rich,  the  valiant,  and  the  sage, 

And  boasting  youth,  and  narrative  old  age. 

Their  pleas  were  diff'rent,  their  request  the  same: 

For  good  and  bad  alike  are  fond  of  Fame. 

Some  she  disgraced,  and  some  with  honours  crowned; 

Unlike  successes  equal  merits  found. 

Thus  her  blind  sister,  fickle  Fortune,  reigns, 

And,  undiscerning,  scatters  crowns  and  chains. 

First  at  the  shrine  the  learned  world  appear, 
And  to  the  goddess  thus  prefer  their  pray'r. 
"  Long  have  we  sought  t'  instruct  and  please  mankind, 
With  studies  pale,  with  midnight  vigils  blind  ; 
But  thanked  by  few,  rewarded  yet  by  none, 
We  here  appeal  to  thy  superior  throne: 
On  wit  and  learning  the  just  prize  bestow, 
For  fame  is  all  we  must  expect  below." 

The  goddess  heard,  and  bade  the  muses  raise 
The  golden  trumpet  of  eternal  praise: 
From  pole  to  pole  the  winds  diffuse  the  sound, 
That  fills  the  circuit  of  the  world  around  ; 
Not  all  at  once,  as  thunder  breaks  the  cloud  ; 
The  notes  at  first  were  rather  sweet  than  loud: 
By  just  degrees  they  ev'ry  moment  rise, 
Fill  the  wide  earth,  and  gain  upon  the  skies. 
At  ev'ry  breath  were  balmy  odours  shed, 
Which  still  grew  sweeter  as  they  wider  spread  ; 
Less  fragrant  scents  th'  unfolding  rose  exhales, 
Or  spices  breathing  in  Arabian  gales. 

Next  these  the  good  and  just,  an  awful  train, 
Thus  on  their  knees  address  the  sacred  fane. 
"  Since  living  virtue  is  with  envy  cursed, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    461 

And  the  best  men  are  treated  like  the  worst, 
Do  thou,  just  goddess,  call  our  merits  forth, 
And  give  each  deed  the  exact  intrinsic  worth." 
"  Not  with  bare  justice  shah1  your  act  be  crowned." 
(Said  Fame),  "but  high  above  desert  renowned: 
Let  fuller  notes,  tk'  applauding  world  amaze, 
And  the  loud  clarion  labour  in  your  praise." 

This  band  dismissed,  behold  another  crowd 
Preferred  the  same  request,  and  lowly  bowed  ; 
The  constant  tenor  of  whose  well-spent  days 
No  less  deserved  a  just  return  of  praise. 
But  straight  the  direful  trump  of  slander  sounds ; 
Through  the  big  dome  the  doubling  thunder  bounds ; 
Loud  as  the  burst  of  cannon  rends  the  skies, 
The  dire  report  through  ev'ry  region  flies, 
In  ev'ry  ear  incessant  rumours  rung, 
And  gathering  scandals  grew  on  ev'ry  tongue. 
From  the  black  trumpet's  rusty  concave  broke 
Sulphureous  flames,  ani  clouds  of  rolling  smoke: 
The  pois'nous  vapour  blots  the  purple  skies, 
And  withers  all  before  it  as  it  flies. 

A  troop  came  next,  who  crowns  and  armour  wore, 
And  proud  defiance  in  their  looks  they  bore : 
"  For  thee  "  (they  cried)  "  amidst  alarms  and  strife, 
We  sailed  in  tempests  down  the    bream  of  life  ; 
F  r  thee  whole  nations  ..lied  wit\  flames  and  blood, 
And  swam  to  empire  through  "\e  purple  flood. 
Those  ills  we  dar  d,  thy  inspiration  own, 
What  virtue  seemed,  was  done  f  ^  thee  alone." 
"  Ambitious  fools!    (the  Queen  rep  ed,  and  frowned) 
"  Be  all  your  acts  in  dark  oblivion  drowned  ; 
There  sleep  forgot,  with  mighty  tyrants  gone, 
Your  statues  mouldered,  and  your  -ames    .nknown ! " 
A  sudden  cloud  straight  snatched  them  from  my 

sight,  _ 
And  each  majestic  phantom  sunk  in  night. 

Then  came  the  smallest  tribe  I  yet  had  seen  ; 
Plain  was  their  dress,  and  modest  was  their  mien. 
"  Great  idol  <  •  mankind '.  we  neither  claim 
The  praise  of  merit,  nor  aspire  to  fame ! 
But  safe  in  deserts  from  the  applause  of  men, 
Would  die  unheard  of,  as  we  lived  unseen, 
'Tis  all  we  beg  thee,  to  conceal  from  sight 
Those  acts  of  goodness,  which  themselves  requite. 


462    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

O  let  us  still  the  secret  joy  partake, 
To  follow  virtue  even  for  virtue's  sake." 

"  And  live  there  men,  who  slight  immortal  fame  ? 
Who  then  with  incense  shall  adore  our  name  ? 
But  mortals !  know,  'tis  still  our  greatest  pride 
To  blaze  those  virtues,  which  the  good  would  'hide. 
Rise !  Muses,  rise !  add  all  your  tuneful  breath, 
These  must  not  sleep  in  darkness  and  in  death." 
She  said:  in  i  ir  the  trembling  music  floats, 
And  <  <  the  winds  triumphant  swell  the  notes  ; 
So  soft,  though  high,  so  loud,  and  yet  so  clear, 
Ev'n  list'ning  angels  leaned  from  heav'n  to  hear: 
To  farthest  shores  th'  ambrosial  spirit  flies, 
Sweet  to  the  world,  and  grateful  to  the  skies. 

Next  these  a  }^outhful  train  their  vows  expressed, 
With  feathers  crowned,  and  gay  embroid'ry  dressed: 
"  Hither,"  they  cried,  "  direct  your  eyes,  and  see 
The  men  of  pleasure,  dress,  and  gallantry  ; 
Ours  is  the  place  at  banquets,  balls,  and  plays, 
Sprightly  our  nights,  polite  are  all  our  d  ys  ; 
Courts  we  frequent,  where  'tis  our  pleasing  care 
To  pay  due  visits,  and  address  the  fair: 
In  fact,  'tis  true,  no  nymph  we  could  persuade, 
But  still  in  fancy  vanquished  ev'.     maid  ; 
Of  unknown  duchesses  lewd  tales  ^  3  tell, 
Yet,  would  the  world  believe  us,  all  were  welL 
The  joy  let  others  have,  and  we  the  name, 
And  what  wre  want  in  pleasure,  £rant  in  fame." 

The  Queen  assents,  the  trumpet  rends  the  skies, 
And  at  each  blast  a  lady's  honour  dies.  [prest 

Pleased  with  the  strange  success,  vast  numbers 
Around  the  shrine,  and  made  the  same  request: 
"What?    you,"  (she  cried)  "unlearned  in  arts  to 

please, 

Slaves  to  yourselves,  and  ev'n  fatigued  with  ease, 
Who  lose  a  length  of  undeserving  days, 
Would  you  usurp  the  lover's  dear-bought  praise  ? 
To  just  contempt,  ye  vain  pretenders,  fall, 
The  people's  fable,  and  the  scorn  of  all." 
Straight  the  black  clarion  sends  a  horrid  sound, 
Loud  ±aughs  burst  out,  and  bitter  scoffs  fly  round, 
Whispers  are  heard,  with  taun^  3  reviling  loud, 
And  scornful  hisses  run  through  all  the  crowQ. 

Last,  those  who  boast  of  mighty  mischiefs  doim, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.       4G3 

Enslave  their  country,  or  usurp  a  throne; 
Or  who  their  glory's  dire  foundation  laid 
On  sovereigns  ruined,  or  on  friends  betrayed; 
Calm,  thinking  villains,  whom  no  faith  could  fix ; 
Of  crooked  counsels  and  dark  politics; 
Of  these  a  gloomy  tribe  surround  the  throne, 
And  beg  to  make  th'  immortal  treasons  known, 
The  trumpet  roars,  long  flaky  flames  expire, 
With  sparks  that  seemed  to  set  the  world  on  fire. 
At  the  dread  sound,  pale  mortals  stood  aghast, 
And  startled  nature  trembled  with  the  blast. 

This  having  heard  and  seen,  some  pow'r  unknown 
Straight  changed  the  scene,and  snatched  me  from  the 
Before  my  view  appeared  a  structure  fair,     [throne. 
Its  site  uncertain,  if  in  earth  or  air ; 
With  rapid  motion  turned  the  mansion  round; 
With  ceaseless  noise  the  ringing  walls  resound; 
Not  less  in  number  were  the  spacious  doors, 
Than  leaves  on  trees,  or  sands  upon  the  shores; 
Which  still  unfolded  stand,  by  night,  by  day, 
Pervious  to  winds,  and  open  ev'ry  way. 
As  flames  by  nature  to  the  skies  ascend, 
As  weighty  bodies  to  the  centre  tend, 
As  to  the  sea  returning  rivers  roll, 
And  the  touched  needle  trembles  to  the  pole; 
Hither,  as  to  their  proper  place,  arise 
All  various  sounds  from  earth,  and  seas,  and  skies, 
Or  spoke  aloud,  or  whispered  in  the  ear ; 
Nor  even  silence,  rest,  or  peace,  is  here. 
As  on  the  smooth  expanse  of  crystal  lakes 
The  sinking  stone  at  first  a  circle  makes; 
The  trembling  surface  by  the  motion  stirred, 
Spreads  in  a  second  circle,  then  a  third ; 
Wide,  and  more  wide,  the  floating  rings  advance, 
Fill  all  the  wat'ry  plain,  and  to  the  margin  dance ; 
Thus  every  voice  and  sound,  when  first  they  break, 
On  neighb'ring  air  a  soft  impression  make ; 
Another  ambient  circle  then  they  move ; 
That,  in  its  turn,  impels  the  next  above ; 
Through  undulating  air  the  sounds  are  sent, 
And  spread  o'er  all  the  fluid  element. 

There  various  news  I  heard  of  love  and  strife, 
Of  peace  and  war,  health,  sickness,  death,  and  life, 
Of  loss  and  gain,  of  famine  and  of  store, 


464       IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Of  storms  at  sea,  and  travels  on  the  shore, 

Of  prodigies,  and  portents  seen  in  air, 

Of  fires  and  plagues,  and  stars  with  blazing  hair. 

Of  turns  of  fortune,  changes  in  the  state, 

The  falls  of  favorites,  the  projects  of  the  great, 

Of  old  mismanagements,  taxations  new : 

All  neither  wholly  false,  nor  wholly  true. 

Above,  belmv,  without,  within,  around, 
Confused,  unnumbered  multitudes  are  found, 
Who  pass,  repass,  advance,  and  glide  away ; 
Hosts  raised  by  fear  and  phantoms  of  a  day : 
Astrologers,  that  future  fates  foreshew, 
Projectors,  quacks,. and  lawyers  not  a  few; 
And  priests,  and  party-zealots,  num'rous  bands 
With  home -born  lies,  or  tales  from  foreign  lands; 
Each  talked  aloud,  or  in  some  secret  place, 
And  wild  impatience  stared  in  ev'ry  face. 
The  flying  rumors  gathered  as  they  rolled, 
Scarce  any  tale  was  sooner  heard  than  told; 
And  all  who  told  it  added  something  new, 
And  all  who  heard  it,  made  enlargements  too, 
In  ev'ry  ear  it  spread,  on  ev'ry  tongue  it  grew. 
Thus  flying  east  and  west,  and  north  and  south, 
News  travelled  with  increase  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
So  from  a  spark,  that  kindled  first  by  chance, 
With  gath'ring  force,  the  quick'ning  flames  advance; 
Till  to  the  clouds  their  curling  heads  aspire, 
And  tow'rs  and  temples  sink  in  floods  of  fire. 

When  thus  ripe  lies  are  to  perfection  sprung, 
Full  grown,  and  fit  to  grace  a  mortal  tongue, 
Through  thousand  vents,  impatient,  forth  they  flow, 
And  rush  in  millions  on  the  world  below. 
Fame  sits  aloft,  and  points  them  out  their  course, 
Their  date  determines,  and  prescribes  their  force: 
Some  to  remain,  some  to  perish  soon ; 
Or  wane  and  wax  alternate  like  the  moon. 
Around,  a  thousand  winged  wonders  fly,      [the  sky. 
Borne  by  the  trumpet's  blast,  and  scattered  through 

There,  at  one  passage,  oft  you  might  survey 
A  lie  and  truth  contending  for  the  way ; 
And  long  'twas  doubtful,  both  so  closely  pent 
Which  first  should  issue  through  the  narrow  vent: 
At  last  agreed,  together  out  they  fly, 
Inseparable  now,  the  truth  an'd  lie ; 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    4C5 

The  strict  companions  are  for  ever  joined, 

And  this  or  that  unmixed,  no  mortal  e'er  shall  find. 

While  thus  I  stood,  intent  to  see  and  hear,1 
One  came,  rnethought,  and  whispered  in  my  ear: 
"What  could  thus  high  thy  rash  ambition  raise? 
Art  thou,  fond  youth,  a  candidate  for  praise  ?  " 

"  Tis  true,"  said  I,  "  not  void  of  hopes  I  came, 
For  who  so  fond  as  youthful  bards  of  fame  ? 
But  few,  alas,  the  casual  blessing  boast, 
So  hard  to  gain,  so  easy  to  be  lost. 
How  vain  that  second  fife  in  other's  breath, 
The  estate  which  wits  inherit  after  death ! 
Ease,  health,  and  life,  for  this  they  must  resign, 
(Unsure  the  tenure,  but  how  vast  the  fine !) 
The  gre  .t  man's  curse,  without  the  gains,  endure, 
Be  e.  vied,  wretclied,  and  be  flattered,  poor; 
VU  luckless  wits  their  enemies  profest, 
A!"  I  all  successful,  iealous  friends  at  best. 
Nor  fame  I  slight,  nor  for  her  favours  call; 
She  comes  unlooked  for,  if  she  comes  at  all. 
But  if  t>e  purchase  costs  so  dear  a  price, 
As  soothing  folly,  or  exaiting  vice: 
Oh !  if  the  muse  must  ilatter  lav/Less  sway, 
And  follow  still  where  fortune  leads  the  way; 
Or  if  no  basis  jear  my  rising  name, 
But  the  fall'n  ruins  of  another's  fame; 
Then  teach  me,  heav'n !  to  scorn  the  guilty  bays, 
Drive  from  my  breast  that  wretched  lust  of  praise, 
Unblemished  let  me  live,  or  die  unknown; 
Oh  grant  an  honest  fame,  or  gr  nt  me  none ! 

»  The  hint  Is  taken  from  a  passage  in  another  part  of  the  third 
book,  but  here  more  naturally  made  the  conclusion,  with  the  addi- 
tion of  a  moral  to  the  whole.  In  Chaucer  he  only  answers,  "He 
3ame  to  see  the  place;  "  and  the  book  ends  abruptly,  with  his  being 
surprised  at  the  sight  of  a  man  of  great  authority,  and  awaking  in  a 
fright.— Pope. 


466 

JANUARY   AND    MAY; 

OK, 

THE   MEKCHANT'S    TALE. 

FKOM    CH AUGER.  1 

THERE  lived  in  Lombardy,  as  authors  write, 

In  days  of  old,  a  wise  and  worthy  knight; 

Of  gentle  manners,  as  of  gen'rous  race, 

Blest  with  much  sense,  more  riches,  and  some  grace, 

Yet  led  astray  by  Venus'  soft  delights, 

He  scarce  could  rule  some  idle  appetites: 

For  long  ago,  let  priests  say  what  they  could, 

Weak  sinful  laymen  were  but  flesh  and  blood. 

But  in  due  time,  when  sixty  years  were  o'er, 
He  vowed  to  lead  this  vicious  life  no  more; 
Whether  pure  holiness  inspired  his  mind, 
Or  dotage  turned  his  brain,  is  hard  to  find: 
But  his  high  courage  pricked  him  forth  to  wed, 
And  try  the  pleasures  of  a  lawful  bed. 
This  was  his  nightly  dream,  his  daily  care, 
And  to  the  heav'nly  powers  his  constant  prayer, 
Once,  ere  he  died,  to  taste  the  blissful  life 
Of  a  kind  husband,  and  a  loving  wife. 

These  thoughts  he  fortified  with  reasons  still, 
(For  none  want  reasons  to  confirm  their  will.) 
Grave  authors  say,  and  witty  poets  sing, 
That  honest  wedlock  is  a  glorious  thing: 
But  depth  of  judgment  most  in  him  appears, 
Who  wisely  weds  in  his  maturer  years. 
Then  let  him  choose  a  damsel  young  and  fair, 
To  bless  his  age,  and  bring  a  worthy  heir; 
To  soothe  his  cares,  and  free  from  noise  and  strife, 
Conduct  him  gently  to  the  verge  of  life. 
Let  sinful  bachelors  their  woes  deplore, 
Full  well  they  merit  all  they  feel,  and  more : 
Unawed  by  precepts,  human  or  divine, 

i  This  translation  was  done  at  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age.-— 
Pove, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    467 

Like  birds  and  beasts,  promiscuously  they  join: 

Nor  know  to  make  the  present  blessing  last, 

To  hope  the  future,  or  esteem  the  past: 

But  vainly  boast  the  joys  they  never  tried, 

And  find  divulged  the  secrets  they  would  hide. 

The  married  man  may  bear  his  yoke  with  ease, 

Secure  at  once  himself  and  heav'n  to  please; 

And  pass  his  inoffensive  hours  away, 

In  bliss  all  night,  and  innocence  all  day: 

Though  fortune  change,  his  constant  spouse  remains, 

Augments  his  joys,  or  mitigates  his  pains. 

But  what  so   pure,  which   envious  tongues  will 

spare  ? 

Some  wicked  wits  have  libelled  all  the  fair. 
With  matchless  impudence  they  style  a  wife 
The  dear-bought  curse,  and  lawful  plague  of  life; 
A  bosom-serpent,  a  domestic  evil, 
A  night-invasion,  and  a  mid-day-devil. 
Let  not  the  wife  these  sland'rous  words  regard, 
But  curse  the  bones  of  ev'ry  lying  bard. 
All  other  goods  by  fortune's  hand  are  giv'n, 
A  wife  is  the  peculiar  gift  of  heav'n: 
Vain  fortune's  favours,  never  at  a  stay, 
Like  empty  shadows,  pass  and  glide  away; 
One  solid  comfort,  our  eternal  wife, 
Abundantly  supplies  us  all  our  life: 
This  blessing  lasts,  (if  those  who  try,  say  true) 
As  long  as  heart  can  wish — and  longer  too. 

Our  grandsire  Adam,  ere  of  Eve  possessed, 
Alone,  and  ev'n  in  Paradise  unblessed, 
With  mournful  looks  the  blissful  scenes  surveyed, 
And  wandered  in  the  solitary  shade: 
The  Maker  saw,  took  pity  and  bestowed 
Woman,  the  last,  the  best  reserved  of  God. 

A  wife !  ah,  gentle  deities,  can  he 
That  has  a  wife,  e'er  feel  adversity  ? 
Would  men  but  follow  what  the  sex  advise, 
All  things  would  prosper,  all  the  world  grow  wise. 
Twas  by  Kebecca's  aid  that  Jacob  won 
His  father's  blessing  from  an  elder  son: 
Abusive  Nabal  owed  his  forfeit  life 
To  the  wise  conduct  of  a  prudent  wife: 
Heroic  Judith,  as  old  Hebrews  show, 
Preserved  the  Jews,  and  slew  th'  Assyrian  foe: 


4G3    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

At  Hester's  suit,  the  persecuting  sword 

Was  sheathed,  and  Israel  lived  to  bless  the  Lord. 

These  weighty  motives,  January  the  sage 
Maturely  pondered  in  his  riper  age; 
And  charmed  with  virtuous  joys,  and  sober  life, 
Would  try  that  Christian  comfort,  called  a  wife. 
His  friends  were  summoned  on  a  point  so  nice. 
To  pass  their  judgement,  and  to  give  8.dvice> 
But  fixed  before,  and  well  resolved  wao  he; 
(As  men  that  ask  advice  are  wont  to  be.) 

"  My  friends/'  he  cried  (and  cast  a  mournful  look 
Around  the  room,  and  sighed  before  he  spoke:) 
"  Beneath  the  weight  of  threescore  years  I  bend, 
And,  worn  with  cares,  am  hastening  to  my  end; 
How  I  have  lived,  alas !  you  know  too  well, 
In  worldly  follies,  which  I  blush  to  tell; 
But  gracious  heav'n  has  oped  my  eyes  at  last, 
With  due  regret  I  view  my  vices  past, 
And  as  the  precept  of  the  Church  decrees, 
Will  take  a  wife,  and  live  in  holy  ease. 
But  since  by  counsel  all  things  should  be  done, 
And  many  heads  are  wiser  still  than  one; 
Choose  you  for  me,  who  best  shah1  be  content 
When    ly  <~    Ire's  approved  by  your  consent. 

"  One  cautir  -  yet  is  needful  to  be  told, 
To  guide  your  choice;  this  wife  must  not  be  old: 
There  goes  a  saying,  and  'twas  shrewdly  said, 
Old  fish  at  table,  but  young  flesh  in  bed. 
My  soul  abhors  the  tasteless,  dry  embrace 
Of  a  stale  virgin  with  a  winter  face: 
In  that  cold  season  love  but  treats  his  guest 
With  bean-straw,  and  tough  forage  at  the  best. 
No  crafty  widows  shall  approach  my  bed; 
Those  are  too  wise  for  bachelors  to  wed; 
As  subtle  clerks  by  many  schools  are  made, 
Twice  married  dames  are  mistresses  o'  the  trade: 
But  young  and  tender  virgins  ruled  with  ease, 
We  form  like  wax,  and  mould  them  as  we  please. 

"Conceive  me,  sirs,  nor  take  my  sense  amiss; 
Tis  what  concerns  my  soul's  eternal  bliss; 
Since  if  I  found  no  pleasure  in  my  spouse 
As  flesh  is  frail,  and  who  (God  help  me)  knows? 
Then  should  I  live  in  lewd  adultry, 
And  sink  downright  to  Satan  when  I  die. 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    469 

Or  wt*i'e  I  cursed  with  an  unfruitful  bed, 
The  righteous  end  were  lost,  for  which  I  wed; 
To  raise  up  seed  to  bless  the  power's  above, 
And  not  for  pleasure  only,  or  for  love. 
Think  not  I  dote;  'tis  time  to  take  a  wife, 
When  vig'rous  blood   forbids  a  chaster  life: 
Those  that  are  blest  with  store  of  grace  divine, 
May  live  like  saints,  by  heav'n's  consent,  and  mine. 

"And  since  I  speak  of  wedlock,  let  me  say, 
(As,  thank  my  stars,  in  modest  truth  I  may) 
My  limbs  are  active,  still  I'm  sound  at  heart, 
And  a  new  vigour  springs  in  ev'ry  part. 
Think  not  my  virtue  lost,  though  time  has  shed 
These  rev'rend  honours  on  my  hoary  head; 
Thus  trees  are  crowned  with  blossoms  white  as  snow, 
The  vital  sap  then  rising  from  below: 
Old  as  I  am,  my  lusty  limbs  appear 
Like  winter  greens,  that  flourish  all  the  year. 
Now,  sirs,  you  know  to  what  I  stand  inclined, 
Let  ev'ry  friend  with  freedom  speak  his  mind." 

He  said;  the  rest  in  different  parts  divide; 
The  knotty  point  was  urged  on  either  side: 
Marriage,  the  theme  on  which  they  all  declaimed, 
Some  praised  with  wit,  and  some  with  reason  blamed. 
Till,  what  with  proofs,  objections,  and  replies, 
Each  wondrous  positive,  and  wondrous  wise, 
There  fell  between  his  brothers  a  debate; 
Placebo  this  was  called,  and  Justin  that, 

First  to  the  knight  Placebo  thus  begun, 
(Mild  were  his  looks,  and  pleasing  was  his  tone) 
"  Such  prudence,  sir,  in  all  your  words  appears, 
As  plainly  proves,  experience  dwells  with  years: 
Yet  you  pursue  sage  Solomon's  advice, 
To  work  by  counsel  when  affairs  are  nice: 
But,  with  the  wise  man's  leave,  I  must  protest, 
So  may  my  soul  arrive  at  ease  and  rest 
As  still  I  hold  your  own  advice  the  best. 

"  Sir,  I  have  lived  a  courtier  all  my  days, 
And  studied  men,  their  manners,  and  their  ways: 
And  have  observed  this  useful  maxim  still, 
To  let  my  betters  always  have  their  will. 
Nay,  if  my  lord  affirmed  that  black  was  white, 
My  word  was  this,  Your  honour's  in  the  right. 
Th'  assuming  wit,  who  deems  himself  so  wise, 


470    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

As  his  mistaken  patron  to  advise, 
Let  him  not  dare  to  vent  his  dang'rous  thoaght, 
A  noble  fool  was  never  in  a  fault. 
This,  sir,  affects  not  you,  whose  ev'ry  word 
Is  weighed  with  judgment,  and  befits  a  lord: 
Your  will  is  mine;  and  is  (I  will  maintain) 
Pleasing  to  God,  and  should  be  so  to  man; 
At  least,  your  courage  :  11  the  world  must  praise, 
Who  dare  to  wed  in  your  declining  days. 
Indulge  the  vigour  of  your  mounting  blood, 
And  let  grey  fools  be  indolently  good, 
•  Who,  past  all  pleasure,  damn  the  joys  of  sense, 
With  reverend  dulness  and  grave  impotence." 
Justin,  who  silent  sate,  and  heard  the  man, 
Thus,  with  a  philosophic  frown,  began: 

"  A  heathen  author,  of  the  first  degree, 
(Who,  though  not  faith,  had  sense  as  well  as  we) 
Bids  us  be  certain  our  concerns  to  trust 
To  those  of  generous  principles,  and  just. 
The  venture's  greater,  I'll  presume  to  say, 
To  give  your  person,  than  your  goods  away: 
And  therefore,  sir,  as  you  regard  your  rest, 
First  learn  your  lady's  qualities  at  least: 
Whether  she's  chaste  or  rampant,  proud  or  civil; 
Meek  as  a  saint,  or  haughty  as  the  devil; 
Whether  an  easy,  fond,  familiar  fool, 
Or  such  a  wit  that  no  man  e'er  can  rule. 
'Tis  true  perfection  none  must  hope  to  find 
In  all  this  world,  much  less  in  woman-kind; 
But  if  her  virtues  prove  the  larger  share, 
Bless  the  kind  fates,  and  think  your  fortune  rare. 
Ah,  gentle  sir,  take  warning  of  a  friend, 
Who  knows  too  weU  the  state  you  thus  commend; 
And  spite  of  all  his  praises  must  declare, 
All  he  can  find  is  bondage,  cost,  and  care. 
Heav'n  knows,  I  shed  full  many  a  private  tear, 
And  sigh  in  silence,  lest  the  world  should  hear: 
While  all  my  friends  applaud  my  blissful  life, 
And  swear  no  mortal's  happier  in  a  wife; 
Demure  and  chaste  as  any  vestal  nun, 
The  meekest  creature  that  beholds  the  sun ! 
But,  by  th'  immortal  powers,  I  feel  the  pain, 
And  he  that  smarts  has  reason  to  complain. 
Do  what  you  list,  for  me;  you  must  be  sage, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    471 

And  cautious  sure;  for  wisdom  is  in  age: 
But  at  these  years,  to  venture  on  the  fair ! 
By  him  who  made  the  ocean,  earth,  and  air, 
To  please  a  wife,  when  her  occasions  call, 
Would  busy  the  most  vig'rous  of  us  all. 
And  trust  me,  sir,  the  chastest  you  can  choose 
Will  ask  observance,  and  exact  her  dues. 
If  what  I  speak  my  noble  lord  offend, 
My  tedious  sermon  here  is  at  an  end." 

"  'Tis  well,  'tis  wondrous  well,"  the  knight  replies* 
"  Most  worthy  kinsman,  faith  you're  mighty  wise ! 
We,  sirs,  are  fools !  and  must  resign  the  cause 
To  heath'nish  authors,  proverbs,  and  old  saws." 
He  spoke  with  scorn,  and  turned  another  way: — 
"  What  does  my  friend,  my  dear  Placebo  say  ?  " 

"  I  say,"  quoth  he,  "  by  heaven  the  man's  to  blame, 
To  slander  wives,  and  wredlock's  holy  name." 
At  this  the  council  rose,  without  delay; 
Each,  in  his  own  opinion,  went  his  way; 
With  full  consent,  that,  all  disputes  appeased, 
The  knight  should  marry,  when  and  where  he  pleased- 

Who  now  but  January  exults  with  joy? 
The  charms  of  wedlock  all  his  soul  employ: 
Each  nymph  by  turns  his  wav'ring  mind  possest, 
And  reigned  the  short-lived  tyrant  of  his  breast; 
While  fancy  pictured  every  lively  part, 
And  each  bright  image  wandered  o'er  his  heart. 
Thus,  in  some  public  forum  fixed  on  high, 
A  mirror  shows  the  figures  moving  by; 
Still  one  by  one,  in  swift  succession,  pass 
The  gliding  shadows  o'er  the  polished  glass. 
This  lady's  charms  the  nicest  could  not  blame, 
But  vile  suspicions  had  aspersed  her  fame; 
That  was  with  sense,  but  not  with  virtue,  blest; 
And  one  had  grace,  that  wanted  all  the  rest. 
Thus  doubting  long  what  nymph  he  should  obey,, 
He  fixed  at  last  upon  the  youthful  May. 
Her  faults  he  knew  not,  love  is  always  blind, 
But  ev'ry  charm  revolved  within  his  mind: 
Her  tender  age,  her  form  divinely  fair, 
Her  easy  motion,  her  attractive  air, 
Her  sweet  behaviour,  her  enchanting  face. 
Her  moving  softness,  and  majestic  grace. 

Much  in  his  prudence  did  our  knight  rejoice, 


472    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

And  thought  no  mortal  could  dispute  his  choice  ; 
Once  more  in  haste  he  summoned  ev'ry  friend, 
And  told  them  all,  their  pains  were  at  an  end. 
"  Heav'n,  that "  (said  he)  "  inspired  me  first  to  wed, 
Provides  a  consort  worthy  of  my  bed: 
Let  none  oppose  th'  election,  since  on  this 
Depends  my  quiet,  and  my  future  bliss. 

"  A  dame  there  is,  the  darling  of  my  eyes, 
Young,  beauteous,  artless,  innocent,  and  wise; 
Chaste,  though  not  rich  ;  and  though  not  nobly  born, 
Of  honest  parents,  and  may  serve  my  turn. 
Her  will  I  wed,  if  gracious  heav'n  so  please  ; 
To  pass  my  age  in  sanctity  and  ease  ; 
And  thank  the  pow'rs,  I  may  possess  alone 
The  lovely  prize,  and  share  my  bliss  with  none  1 
If  you,  my  friends,  this  virgin  can  procure, 
My  joys  are  full,  my  happiness  is  sure. 

"One  only  doubt  remains:  full  oft  I've  heard, 
By  casuists  grave,  and  deep  divines  averred  ; 
That  'tis  too  much  for  human  race  to  know 
The  bliss  of  heav'n  above,  and  earth  below. 
Now  should  tho  nuptial  pleasures  prove  so  great, 
To  match  th  >  blessings  01  the  future  state, 
Those  endles>  joys  were  ill  exchanged  for  these  ; 
Then  clear  th.'    doubt,  ami  set  my  mind  at  ease." 

This  Justin  heard,  nor  could  his  spleen  control, 
Touched  to  the  quick,  nnd  tickled  at  the  soul. 
"  Sir  Knight,"  he  cried,  "  if  this  be  all  your  dread 
Heav'n  put  it  past  your  doubt,  whene'er  you  wed  ; 
And  to  my  fervent  prayers  so  far  consent, 
That  ere  the  rites  are  o'er,  you  may  repent ! 
Good  heaven,  no  doubt,  the  nuptial  state  approves, 
Since  it  chastises  still  what  best  it  loves. 

"  Then  be  not,  sir,  abandoned  to  despair  ; 
Seek,  and  perhaps  you'll  find  among  the  fair, 
One,  that  may  do  your  business  to  a  hair  ; 
Not  ev'n  L,  wish,  your  happiness  delay, 
But  prove  the  scourge  to  lash  you  on  your  way: 
Then  to  the  skies  your  mounting  soul  shall  go, 
Swift  as  an  arrow  soaring  from  the  bow! 
Provided  still,  you  moderate  your  joy, 
Nor  in  your  pleasures  all  your  might  employ ; 
Let  reason's  rule  your  strong  desires  abate, 
Nor  please  too  lavishly  your  gentle  mate. 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    473 

Old  wives  there  are,  of  judgment  most  acute, 
Who  solve  these  questions  beyond  all  dispute  ; 
Consult  with  those,  and  be  of  better  cheer  ; 
Marry,  do  penance,  and  dismiss  your  fear." 

So  said,  they  rose,  nor  more  the  work  delayed  ; 
The  match  was  offered,  the  proposals  made. 
The  parents,  you  may  think,  would  soon  comply ; 
The  old  have  int'rest  ever  in  their  eye. 
Nor  was  it  hard  to  move  the  lady's  mind  ; 
When  fortune  favours,  still  the  fair  are  kind. 

I  pass  each  previous  settlement  and  deed, 
Too  long  for  me  to  write,  or  you  to  read  ; 
Nor  will  with  quaint  impertinence  display 
The  pomp,  the  pageantry,  the  proud  array. 
The  time  approached,  to  church  the  parties  went, 
At  once  with  carnal  and  devout  intent: 
Forth  came  the  priest,  and  bade  th'  obedient  wife 
Like  Sarah  or  Rebecca  lead  her  life: 
Then  prayed  the  pow'rs  the  fruitful  bed  to  bless, 
And  made  all  sure  enough  with  holiness. 

And  now  the  palace  gates  are  opened  wide, 
The  guests  appear  in  crder,  side  by  side, 
And  placed  in  state,  "Tie  bridegroom  and  the  bride. 
The  breathing  flute's  soft  notes  are  heard  around, 
And  the  shrill  trumpets  mix  their  silver  sound  ; 
The  vaulted  roofs  with  echoing  music  ring,     [string. 
These  touch  the  vocal  stops,  and  those  the  trembling 
Not  thus  Amphion  tuned  the  warbling  lyre, 
Nor  Joab  the  sounding  clarion  could  inspire, 
Nor  fierce  Theodamas,  whose  sprightly  strain    [train. 
Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  and  fire  the  martial 

Bacchus  himself,  the  nuptial  feast  to  grace, 
(So  poets  sing)  was  present  on  the  place: 
And  lovely  Yenus,  goddess  of  delight, 
Shook  high  her  flaming  torch  in  open  sight: 
And  danced  around,  and  smiled  on  ev'ry  knight : 
Pleased  her  best  servant  would  his  courage  try, 
No  less  in  wedlock,  than  in  liberty. 
Full  many  an  age  old  Hymen  had  not  spied 
So  kind  a  bridegroom,  or  so  bright  a  bride. 
Ye  bards !  renowned  among  the  tuneful  throng 
For  gentle  lays,  and  joyous  nuptial  song; 
Think  not  your  softest  numbers  can  display 
The  matchless  glories  of  this  blissful  day; 


474    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

The  joys  are  such,  as  far  transcend  your  rage, 
When  tender  youth  has  wedded  stooping  age. 

The  beauteous  dame  sate  smiling  at  the  board, 
And  darted  am'rous  glances  at  her  lord. 
Not  Hester's  self,  whose  charms  the  Hebrews  sing, 
E'er  looked  so  lovely  on  her  Persian  king: 
Bright  as  the  rising  sun,  in  summer's  day, 
And  fresh  and  blooming  as  the  month  of  May  - 
The  joyful  knight  surveyed  her  by  his  side, 
Nor  envied  Paris  with  the  Spartan  bride: 
Still  as  his  mind  revolved  with  vast  delight 
Th'  entrancing  raptures  of  th'  approaching  night, 
Restless  he  sate,  invoking  ev'ry  power 
To  speed  his  bliss,  and  haste  the  happy  hour. 
Meantime  the»vig'rous  dancers  beat  the  ground, 
And  songs  were  sung,  and  flowing  bowls  went  round 
With  od'rous  spices  they  perfumed  the  place, 
And  mirth  and  pleasure  shone  in  every  face. 

Damian  alone,  of  all  the  menial  train, 
Sad  in  the  midst  of  triumphs,  sighed  for  pain; 
Damian  alone,  the  knight's  obsequious  squire, 
Consumed  at  heart,  and  fed  a  secret  fire. 
His  lovely  mistress  all  his  soul  possessed, 
He  looked,  he  languished,  and  could  take  no  rest: 
His  task  performed,  he  sadly  went  his  way, 
Fell  on  his  bed,  and  loathed  the  sight  of  day 
There  let  him  lie;  till  his  relenting  dame 
Weep  in  her  turn,  and  waste  in  equal  flame. 

The  weary  sun,  as  learned  poets  write, 
Forsook  the  horizon,  and  rolled  down  the  light; 
While  glitt'ring  stars  his  absent  beams  supply, 
And  night's  dark  mantle  overspread  the  sky. 
Then  rose  the  guests;  and  as  the  time  required, 
Each  paid  his  thanks,  and  decently  retired. 

The  foe  once  gone,  our  knight  prepared  t'  undress^ 
So  keen  he  was,  and  eager  to  possess: 
But  first  thought  fit  the  assistance  to  receive, 
Which  grave  physicians  scruple  not  to  give; 
Satyrion  near,  with  hot  eringos  stood, 
Cantharides,  to  fire  the  lazy  blood, 
Whose  use  old  bards  describe  in  luscious  rhymes, 
And  critics  learned  explain  to  modern  times. 

By  this  the  sheets  were  spread,  the  bride  undressed, 
The  room  was  sprinkled,  and  the  becl  was  blessed, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    475 

What  next  ensued  beseems  not  me  to  say; 
'Tis  sung,  he  laboured  till  the  dawning  day, 
Then  briskly  sprung  from  bed,  with  heart  so  light, 
As  all  were  nothing  he  had  done  by  night; 
And  sipped  his  cordial  as  he  sate  upright. 
He  kissed  his  balmy  spouse  with  wanton  play, 
And  feebly  sung  a  lusty  roundelay: 
Then  on  the  couch  his  weary  limbs  he  cast; 
For  ev'ry  labour  must  have  rest  at  last. 

But  anxious  cares  the  pensive  squire  oppressed, 
Sleep  fled  his  eyes,  and  peace  forsook  his  breast; 
The  raging  flames  that  in  his  bosom  dwell, 
He  wanted  art  to  hide,  and  means  to  tell. 
Yet  hoping  time  th'  occasion  might  betray, 
Composed  a  sonnet  to  the  lovely  May; 
Which  writ  and  folded  with  the  nicest  art, 
He  wrapped  in  silk,  and  laid  upon  his  heart. 

When  now  the  fourth  revolving  day  was  run, 
('Twas  June,  and  Cancer  had  received  the  Sun) 
Forth  from  her  chamber  came  the  beauteous  bride;1 
The  good  old  knight  moved  slowly  by  her  side. 
High  mass  was  sung;  they  feasted  in  the  hall; 
The  servants  round  stood  ready  at  their  call. 
The  squire  alone  was  absent  from  the  board, 
And  much  his  sickness  grieved  his  worthy  lord, 
Who  prayed  his  spouse,  attended  with  her  train, 
To  visit  Damian,  and  divert  his  pain. 
Th'  obliging  dames  obeyed  with  one  consent; 
They  left  the  hall,  and  to  his  lodging  went. 
The  female  tribe  surround  him  as  he  lay, 
And  close  beside  him  sat  the  gentle  May: 
Where,  as  she  tried  his  pulse,  he  softly  drew 
A  heaving  sigh,  and  cast  a  mournful  view ! 
Then  gave  his  bill,  and  bribed  the  pow'rs  divine, 
With  secret  vows  to  favour  his  design. 

Who  studies  now  but  discontented  May  ? 
On  her  soft  couch  uneasily  she  lay: 
The  lumpish  husband  snored  away  the  night, 
Till  coughs  awaked  him  near  the  morning  light. 
What  then  he  did,  I'll  not  presume  to  tell, 
Nor  if  she  thought  herself  in  heav'n  or  hell: 

1  "  As  custom  is  with  these  nobles  all, 
A  bride  shall  not  be  eaten  in  the  hall 
Till  days  four ,"— 


476    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Honest  and  dull  in  nuptial  bed  they  lay, 
Till  the  bell  tolled,  and  all  arose  to  pray. 

Were  it  by  forceful  destiny  decreed, 
Or  did  from  chance,  or  nature's  pow'r  proceed: 
Or  that  some  star,  with  aspect  kind  to  love, 
Shed  its  selectest  influence  from  above; 
Whatever  was  the  cause,  the  tender  dame 
Felt  the  first  motions  of  an  infant  flame: 
Received  th'  impressions  of  the  love-sick  squire. 
And  wasted  in  the  soft  infectious  fire. 
Ye  fair,  draw  near,  let  May's  example  move 
Your  gentle  minds  to  pity  those  who  love ! 
Had  some  fierce  tyrant  in  her  stead  been  found, 
The  poor  adorer  sure  had  hanged,  or  drowned: 
But  she,  your  sex's  mirror,  free  from  pride, 
Was  much  too  meek  to  prove  a  homicide. 

But  to  my  tale:  Some  sages  have  defined 
Pleasure  the  sovereign  bliss  of  humankind: 
Our  knight  (who  studied  much,  we  may  suppose) 
Derived  his  high  philosophy  from  those; 
For,  like  a  prince,  he  bore  the  vast  expense 
Of  lavish  pomp,  and  proud  magnificence: 
His  house  was  stately,  his  retinue  gay, 
Large  was  his  train,  and  gorgeous  his  array. 
His  spacious  garden  made  to  yield  to  none, 
Was  compassed  round  with  walls  of  solid  stone: 
Priapus  could  not  half  describe  the  grace 
(Though  god  of  gardens)  of  this  charming  place: 
A  place  to  tire  the  rambling  wits  of  France 
In  long  descriptions,  and  exceed  romance; 
Enough  to  shame  the  gentlest  bard  that  sings 
Of  painted  meadows,  and  of  purling  springs. 

Full  in  the  centre  of  the  flow'ry  ground, 
A  crystal  fountain  spread  its  streams  around, 
The  fruitful  banks  with  verdant  laurels  crowned; 
About  this  spring  (if  ancient  fame  say  true) 
The  dapper  elves  their  moonlight  sports  pursue: 
Their  pigmy  king,  and  little  fairy  queen, 
In  circling  dances  gamboled  on  the  green, 
While  tuneful  sprites  a  merry  concert  made, 
And  airy  music  warbled  through  the  shade. 

Hither  the  noble  knight  would  oft  repair, 
(His  scene  of  pleasure,  and  peculiar  care) 
this  he  held  it  dear,  and  always  bore 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    47? 

The  silver  key  that  locked  the  garden  door. 
To  this  sweet  place  in  summer's  sultry  heat, 
He  used  from  noise  and  bus'ness  to  retreat; 
And  here  in  dalliance  spend  the  live-long  day, 
Solus  cum  sola,  with  his  sprightly  May. 
For  whate'er  work  was  undischarged  a-bed, 
The  duteous  knight  in  this  fair  garden  sped. 

But  ah !  what  mortal  lives  of  bliss  secure, 
How  short  a  space  our  wordly  joys  endure  ? 
O  fortune,  fair,  like  all  thy  treach'rous  kind, 
But  faithless  still,  and  wav'ring  as  the  wind ! 
O  painted  monster,  formed  mankind  to  cheat, 
"With  pleasing  poison  and  with  soft  deceit ! 
This  rich,  this  am'rous,  venerable  knight, 
Amidst  his  ease,  his  solace  and  delight, 
Struck  blind  by  thee,  resigns  his  days  to  grief, 
And  calls  on  death,  the  wretch's  last  relief. 

The  rage  of  jealousy  then  seized  his  mind, 
For  much  he  feared  the  faith  of  woman  kind. 
•  His  wife  not  suffered  from  his  side  to  stray, 
Was  captive  kept,  he  watched  her  night  and  day. 
Abridged  her  pleasures  and  confined  her  sway. 
Full  oft  in  tears  did  hapless  May  complain, 
And  sighed  full  oft;  but  sighed  and  wept  in  vain; 
She  looked  on  Damiaii  with  a  lover's  eye; 
For  oh,  twas  fixt;  she  must  possess  or  die ! 
Nor  less  impatience  vexed  her  am'rous  squire, 
Wild  with  delay,  and  burning  with  desire. 
Watched  as  she  was,  yet  could  he  not  refrain, 
By  secret  writing  to  disclose  his  pain: 
The  dame  by  signs  revealed  her  kind  intent, 
Till  both  were  conscious  what  each  other  meant. 

Ah,  gentle  knight,  what  would  thy  eyes  avail, 
Though  they  could  see  as  far  as  ships  can  sail  ? 
'Tis  better,  sure,  when  blind,  deceived  to  be, 
Than  be  deluded  when  a  mac  jan  see ! 

Argus  himself,  so  cautious  and  so  wise, 
Was  over- watched,  for  all  his  hundred  eyes: 
So  many  an  honest  husband  may,  '/is  known 
Who,  wisely,  never  thinks  the  case  his  own. 

The  darne  at  last,  by  diligence  and  care, 
Procured  the  key  her  knight  was  wont  to  bear: 
She  took  the  wards  in  wax  before  the  fire, 
And  gave  th'  impression  to  the  trusty  squire. 


478    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

By  means  of  this,  some  wonder  shall  appear, 
Which,  in  due  place  and  season,  you  may  hear. 

Well  sung  sweet  Ovid,  in  the  days  of  yore, 
What  sleight  is  that,  which  love  will  not  explore  ? 
And  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  plainly  show 
The  feats  true  lovers,  when  they  list,  can  do : 
Though  watched  and  captive,  yet  in  spite  of  aH, 
They  found  the  art  of  kissing  through  a  wall. 

But  now  no  longer  from  our  tale  to  stray; 
It  happ'd,  that  once  upon  a  summer's  day, 
Our  rev'rend  knight  was  ugred  to  am'rous  play: 
He  raised  his  spouse  ere  matin-bell  was  rung, 
And  thus  his  morning  canticle  he  sung: 

"Awake,  my  love,  disclose  thy  radiant  eyes; 
Arise,  my  wife,  my  beauteous  lady,  rise ! 
Hear  how  the  doves  with  pensive  notes  complain, 
And  in  soft  murmurs  tell  the  trees  their  pain: 
The  winter's  past;  the  clouds  and  tempest  fly; 
The  sun  adorns  the  fields,  and  brightens  all  the  sky 
Fair  without  spot,  whose  ev'ry  charming  part 
My  bosom  wounds,  and  captivates  my  heart; 
Come,  and  in  mutual  pleasure  let's  engage, 
Joy  of  my  life,  and  comfort  of  my  age." 

This  heard,  to  Damian  straight  a  sign  she  made, 
To  haste  before;  the  gentle  squire  obeyed: 
Secret,  and  undescried  he  took  his  way, 
And  ambushed  close  behind  an  arbour  lay. 

It  was  not  Ipng  ere  January  came, 
And  hand  in  hand  with  him  his  lovely  dame; 
Blind  as  he  was,  not  doubting  all  was  sure, 
He  turned  the  key,  and  made  the  gate  secure. 

"  Here  let  us  walk,"  he  said,  "observed  by  none. 
Conscious  of  pleasures  to  the  world  unknown: 
So  may  my  soul  have  joy,  asthou  my  wife, 
Art  far  the  dearest  solace  of  my  life; 
And  rather  would  I  choose,  by  heav'n  above, 
To  die  this  instant,  than  to  lose  thy  love. 
Reflect  what  truth  was  in  my  passion  shown, 
When  unendowed,  I  took  thee  for  my  own, 
And  sought  no  treasure  but  thy  heart  alone. 
Old  as  I  am,  and  now  deprived  of  sight, 
Whilst  thou  art  faithful  to  thy  own  true  knight, 
Nor  age.  nor  blindness  rob  me  of  delight. 
Each  other  loss  with  patience  I  can  bear, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    479 

The  loss  of  thea  is  what  I  only  fear. 

"  Consider  then,  my  lady  and  my  wife, 
The  solid  comforts  of  a  virtuous  life. 
As  first,  the  love  of  Christ  himself  you  gain; 
Next,  your  own  honour  undefiled  maintain; 
And  lastly,  that  which  sure  your  mind  must  move, 
My  whole  estate  shall  gratify  your  love : 
Make  your  own  terms,  and  ere  to-  morrow's  sun 
Displays  his  light,  by  heav'n  it  shall  be  done. 
I  seal  the  contract  with  a  holy  kiss, 
And  will  perform,  by  this — my  dear,  and  this — 
Have  comfort,  spouse,  nor  think  thy  lord  unkind; 
'Tis  love,  not  jealousy,  that  fires  my  mind. 
For  when  thy  charms  my  sober  thoughts  engage, 
And  joined  to  them  my  own  unequal  age, 
From  thy  dear  side  I  have  no  pow'r  to  part, 
Such  secret  transports  warm  my  melting  heart. 
For  who  that  once  possess  those  heav'nly  charms, 
Could  live  one  moment  absent  from  thy  arms?" 

He  ceased,  and  May  with  modest  grace  replied; 
(Weak  was  her  voice,  as  while  she  spoke  she  cried:) 
"  Heaven  knows"  (with  that  a  tender  sigh  she  drew) 
"I  have  a  soul  to  save  as  well  as  you; 
And,  what  no  less  you  to  my  charge  commend, 
My  dearest  honour,  will  to  death  defend. 
To  you  in  holy  church  I  gave  my  hand, 
And  joined  my  heart  in  wedlock's  sacred  band: 
Yet  after  this,  if  you  distrust  my  care, 
Then  hear,  my  lord,  and  witness  what  I  swear: 

"  First,  may  the  yawning  earth  her  bosom  rend 
And  let  me  hence  to  hell  alive  descend: 
Or  die  the  death  I  dread  no  less  than  hell, 
Sewed  in  a  sack,  and  plunged  into  a  well: 
Ere  I  my  fame  by  one  lewd  act  disgrace, 
Or  once  renounce  the  honour  of  my  race. 
For  know,  Sir  Knight,  of  gentle  blood,  I  came, 

I  loathe  a  w ,  and  startle  at  the  name. 

But  jealous  men  on  their  own  crimes  reflect, 
And  learn  from  thence  their  ladies  to  suspect: 
Else  why  these  needless  cautions,  sir,  to  me  ? 
These  doubts  and  fears  of  female  constancy ! 
This  chime  still  rings  in  ev'ry  lady's  ear, 
The  only  strain  a  wife  must  hope  to  hear." 

Thus  while  she  spoke  a  sidelong  glance  she  cast, 


430    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Where  Damian  kneeling,  worshipped  as  she  past. 
She  saw  him  watch  the  motions  of  her  eye, 
And  singled  out  a  pear-tree  planted  nigh: 
'Twas  charged  with  fruit  that  made  a  goodly  show, 
And  hung  with  dangling  pears  was  every  bough. 
Thither  th'  obsequious  squire  addressed  his  pace, 
And  climbing,  in  tiie  summit  took  his  place: 
The  knight  and  lady  walked  beneath  in  view, 
Where  let  us  leave  them,  and  our  tale  pursue. 

'Twas  now  the  season  when  the  glorious  sun 
His  heav'nly  progress  through  the  Twins  had  run  ; 
And  Jove,  exalted,  his  mild  influence  yields, 
To  glad  the  glebe,  and  paint  the  flow'ry  fields: 
Clear  was  the  day,  and  Phoebus  rising  bright, 
Had  streaked  the  azure  firmament  with  light ; 
He  pierced  the  glitt'ring  clouds  with  golden  streams, 
And  warmed  the  womb  of  earth  with  genial  beams. 

It  so  befeU,  in  that  fair  morning-tide, 
The  fairies  sported  on  the  garden  side, 
And  in  the  midst  their  monarch  and  his  bride. 
So  featly  tripped  the  light-foot  ladies  round, 
The  knights  so  nimbly  o'er  the  green  sward  bound, 
That  scarce  they  bent  the  flow'rs,  or  touched  the 
The  dances  ended,  ah1  the  fairy  train  [ground. 

For  pinks  and  daisies  searched  the  flow'ry  plain ; 
While  on  a  bank  reclined  of  rising  green, 
Thus,  with  a  frown,  the  king  bespoke  his  queen: 

(i  Tis  too  apparent,  argue  what  you  can, 
The  treachery  you  women  use  to  man: 
A  thousand  authors  have  this  truth  made  out, 
And  sad  experience  leaves  no  room  for  doubt. 

"  Heav'n  rest  thy  spirit,  noble  Solomon, 
A  wiser  monarch  never  saw  the  sun: 
All  wealth,  all  honours,  the  supreme  degree 
Of  earthly  bliss  was  well  bestowed  on  thee ! 
For  sagely  hast  thou  said :  Of  ah1  mankind, 
One  only  just,  and  righteous,  hope  to  find: 
But  shouldst  thou  search  the  spacious  world  around, 
Yet  one  good  woman  is  not  to  be  found. 

"Thus  says  the  king  who  knew  your  wickedness; 
The  son  of  Sirach  testifies  no  le'ss. 
So  may  some  wildfire  on  your  bodies  fall, 
Or  some  devouring  plague  consume  you  all ; 
As  well  you  view  the  lecher  in  the  tree, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    481 


Aivi  well  tiii&J  honourable  knight  you  see  : 
But  since  he's  blind  and  old  (a  helpless  case) 
His  squire  shall  cuckold  him  before  your  face. 

"  Now  by  my  own  dread  majesty  I  swear, 
And  by  this  awful  sceptre  which  I  bear, 
No  impious  wretch  shall  'scape  unpunished  long, 
That  in  my  presence  offers  such  a  wrong. 
I  will  this  instant  undeceive  the  knight, 
And,  in  the  very  act  restore  his  sight: 
And  set  the  strumpet  here  in  open  view, 
A  warning  to  these  ladies,  and  to  you, 
And  all  the  faithless  sex,  for  ever  to  be  true." 

"  And  will  you  so,"  replied  the  queen,  "  indeed  ? 
Now,  by  my  mother's  soul  it  is  decreed, 
She  shall  not  want  an  answer  at  her  need. 
For  her,  and  for  her  daughters,  I'll  engage, 
And  all  {he  sex  in  each  succeeding  age; 
Art  shall  be  theirs  to  varnish  an  offence, 
And  fortify  their  crimes  with  confidence. 
Nay,  were  they  taken  in  a  strict  embrace^, 
Seen  with  both  eyes,  and  pinioned  on  the  pltice  ; 
All  they  shall  need  is  to  protest  and  swear, 
Breathe  a  soft  sigh,  and  drop  a  tender  tear  ; 
Till  their  wise  husbands,  gulled  by  arts  like  theso, 
Grow  gentle,  tractable,  and  tame  as  geese. 

"What  though  this  slaiid'rous  Jew,  this  Solomon, 
Called  women  fools,  and  knew  full  many  a  one  ; 
The  wiser  wits  of  later  times  declare, 
How  constant,  chaste,  and  virtuous  women  are: 
Witness  the  martys,  who  resigned  their  breath, 
Serene  in  torments,  unconcerned  in  death; 
And  witness  next  what  Roman  authors  tell, 
How  Arria,1  Portia,2  and  Lucretia  3  fell. 

"  But  since  the  sacred  leaves  to  all  are  free, 
And  men  interpret  texts,  why  should  not  we  ? 
By  this  no  more  was  meant,  than  to  have  showt^ 
That  sov'reign  goodness  dwells  in  Him  alone 
Who  only  Is,  and  is  but  only  One. 

1  Aria,  when  her  husband   hesitated    to   obey   the   mandate  vo 
die,  plunged  the  dagger  into  her  own  heart,  and  drawing  iu  back  , 
said,  "  My  Paetus,  it  is  not  painful."  • 

2  Portia,  the  wife  of  Brutus,  died  for  love  of  him,  and  anxiety  on 
his  account. 

3  Lucretia,  after  bidding  her   husband    and  father  avenge  hcj 
Wrong  done  by  Tarquin,  stabbed  herself, 


482     IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

But  grant  the  worst ;  shall  women  then  be  weighed 

By  ev'ry  word  that  Solomon  has  said  ? 

What  though  this  king  (as  ancient  story  boasts) 

Built  a  fair  temple  to  the  Lord  of  hosts; 

He  ceased  at  last  his  Maker  to  adore, 

And  did  as  much  for  idol  gods,  or  more. 

Beware  what  lavish  praises  you  confer 

On  a  rank  lecher  and  idolater; 

Whose  reign  indulgent  God,  says  Holy  Writ, 

Did  but  for  David's  righteous  sake  permit; 

David,  the  monarch  after  heav'n's  own  mind, 

Who  loved  our  sex,  and  honoured  all  our  kind. 

"Well,  I'm  a  woman,  and  as  such  must  speak; 
Silence  would  swell  me,  and  my  heart  would  break. 
Know,  then,  I  scorn  your  dull  authorities, 
Your  idle  wits,  and  all  their  learned  lies. 
By  heav'n,  those  authors  are  our  sex's  foes,  • 
Whom,  in  our  right,  I  must  and  will  oppose." 

"Nay,"  (quoth  the  king),  "dear  madam,  be  not 

wroth; 

I  yield  it  up;  but  since  I  gave  my  oath, 
That  this  much-injured  knight  again  should  see; 
It  must  be  done — I  am  a  king/'  said  he, 
"•And  one,  whose  faith  has  ever  sacred  been." 

"And  so  has  mine"  (she  said) — I  am  a  queen: 
Her  answer  she  shall  have,  I  undertake; 
And  thus  an  end  of  all  dispute  I  make. 
Try  when  you  list;  and  you  shall  find,  my  lord, 
It  is  not  in  our  sex  to  break  our  word." 

We  leave  them  here  in  this  heroic  strain, 
And  to  the  knight  our  story  turns  again, 
Who  in  the  garden,  with  his  lovely  May, 
Sung  merrier  than  the  cuckoo  or  the  jay: 
This  was  his  song ;  "  Oh,  kind  and  constant  be, 
Constant  and  kind  I'll  ever  prove  to  thee." 

Thus  singing  as  he  went,  at  last  he  drew 
By  easy  steps,  to  where  the  pear-tree  grew: 
The  longing  dame  looked  up,  and  spied  her  love 
Full  fairly  perched  among  the  boughs  above. 
She   stopped,  and   sighing:  "Oh,  good  gods,"  she 

cried. 

"  What  pangs,  what  sudden  shoots  distend  my  side ! 
O  for  that  tempting  fruit,  so  fresh,  so  green ! 
Help,  for  the  love  of  heaven's  immortal  queen ! 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    483 

Help,  dearest  lord,  and  save  at  once  the  life 
Of  thy  poor  infant,  and  thy  longing  wife!" 

Sore  sighed  the  knight  to  hear  his  lady's  cry, 
But  could  not  climb,  and  had  no  servant  nigh: 
Old  as  he  was,  and  void  of  eyesight  too, 
What  could,  alas !  a  helpless  husband  do  ? 
"  And  must  I  languish,  then,"  she  said,  "  and  die, 
Yet  view  the  lovely  fruit  before  my  eye  ? 
At  least,  kind  sir,  for  charity's  sweet  sake, 
Vouchsafe  the  trunk  between  your  arms  to  take; 
Then  from  your  back  I  might  ascend  the  tree; 
Do  you  but  stoop,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me." 

"  With  all  my  soul,"  he  thus  replied  again, 
"  I'd  spend  my  dearest  blood  to  eas^  thy  pain." 
With  that,  his  back  against  the  trunk  he  bent, 
She  seized  a  twig,  and  up  the  tree  she  went. 

Now  prove  your  patience,  gentle  ladies  all ! 
Nor  let  on  me  your  heavy  anger  fall: 
'Tis  truth  I  tell,  though  not  in  phrase  refined; 
Though  blunt  my  tale,  yet  honest  is  my  mind. 
What  feats  the  lady  in  the  tree  might  do, 
I  pass,  as  gambols  never  known  to  you; 
But  sure  it  was  a  merrier  fit,  she  swore, 
Than  in  her  life  she  ever  felt  before. 

In  that  nice  moment,  lo !  the  wond'ring  knight 
Looked  out,  and  stood  restored  to  sudden  sight. 
Straight  on  the  tree  his  eager  eyes  he  bent,* 
As  one  whose  thoughts  were  on  his  spouse  intent; 
But  when  he  saw  his  bosom-wife  so  dressed, 
His  rage  was  such  as  cannot  be  expressed: 
Not  frantic  mothers  when  their  infants  die, 
With  louder  clamours  rend  the  vaulted  sky; 
He  cried,  he  roared,  he  stormed,  he  tore  his  hair; 
"  Death !  hell !  and  furies !  what  dost  thou  do  there  ?  w 

"  What,  ails  my  lord  ?  "  the  trembling  dame  replied; 
"I  thought  your  patience  had  been  better  tried: 
Is  this  your  love,  ungrateful  and  unkind. 
This  my  reward  for  having  cured  the  blind? 
Why  was  I  taught  to  make  my  husband  see, 
By  struggling  with  a  man  upon  a  tree  ? 
Did  I  for  this  the  power  of  magic  prove  ? 
Unhappy  wife,  whose  crime  was  too  much  love ! " 

"  If  this  be  struggling,  by  this  holy  light, 
'Txs  struggling  with  a  vengeance,"  (quoth  the  knight), 


484    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

"  So  heav'n  preserve  the  sight  it  has  restored, 

As  with  these  eyes  I  plainly  saw  thee  w ; 

W by  my  slave — perfidious  wretch !  may  hell 

As  surely  seize  thee,  as  I  saw  too  well." 

"Guard  me,  good  angels!  "  cried  the  gentle  May, 
"  Pray  heav'n,  this  magic  work  the  proper  way ! 
Alas,  my  love !  'tis  certain,  could  you  see, 
You  ne'er  had  used  these  killing  words  to  me : 
So  help  me,  fates,  as  'tis  no  perfect  sight, 
Bui;  some  faint  glimm'ring  of  a  doubtful  light." 

"  What  I  have  said  "  (quoth  he),  "  I  must  maintain, 
For,  by  the  immortal  pow'rs  it  seemed  too  plain— 

"  By  all  those  pow'rs,  some  frenzy  seized  your  mind," 
(Keplied  the  dame,)  "are  these  the  thanks  I  find? 
Wretch  that  I  am,  that  e'er  I  was  so  kind ! " 
She  said;  a  rising  sigh  expressed  her  woe, 
The  ready  tears  apace  began  to  flow, 
And  as  they  fell  she  wiped  from  either  eye 
The  drops  (for  women,  when  they  list,  can  cry). 

The  knight  was  touched;  and  in  his  looks  appeared 
Signs  of  remorse,  while  thus  his  spouse  he  cheered: 
"  Madam,  'tis  past,  and  my  short  anger  o'er; 
Come  down,  and  vex  your  tender  heart  no  more: 
Excuse  me,  dear,  if  aught  amiss  was  said, 
For,  on  my  soul,  amends  shall  soon  be  made: 
Let  my  repentance  your  forgiveness  draw, 
By  heav'n,  I  swore  but  what  I  thought  I  saw." 

"Ah,  my  loved  lord!    'twas  much  unkind"  (she 
"  On  bare  suspicion  thus  to  treat  your  bride.       [cried) 
But  till  your  sight's  established,  for  a  while, 
Imperfect  objects  may  your  sense  beguile. 
Thus  when  from  sleep  we  first  our  eyes  display, 
The  balls  are  wounded  with  the  piercing  ray, 
And  dusky  vapours  rise,  and  intercept  the  day. 
So  just  recov'ring  from  the  shades  of  night, 
Your  swimming  eyes  are  drunk  with  sudden  light, 
Strange  phantoms  dance  around,  and  skim  before 
your  sight. 

"Then,  sir,  be  cautious,  nor  too  rashly  deem; 
Heaven  knows  how  seldom  things  are  what  they  seem ! 
Consult  your  reason,  and  you  soon  shall  find 
'Twas  you  were  jealous,  not  your  wife  unkind: 
Jove  ne'er  spoke  oracle  more  true  than  this, 
None  judge  so  wrong  as  those  who  think  amiss," 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    485 

With  that  she  leaped  into  her  lord's  embrace, 
With  well-dissembled  virtue  in  her  face. 
He  hugged  her  close,  and  kissed  her  o'er  and  o'er, 
Disturbed  with  doubts  and  jealousies  no  more : 
Both  pleased  and  blessed,  renewed  their  mutual  vows, 
A  fruitful  wife,  and  a  believing  spouse. 

Thus  ends  our  tale,  whose  moral  next  to  makey 
Let  all  wise  husbands  hence  example  take; 
And  pray,  to  crown  the  pleasure  of  their  lives, 
To  be  so  well  deluded  by  their  wives. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH. 

HER  PROLOGUE. 

BEHOLD  the  woes  of  matrimonial  life, 

And  hear  with  rev'rence  an  experienced  wife ! 

To  dear-bought  wisdom  give  the  credit  due, 

And  think,  for  once,  a  woman  tells  you  true. 

In  all  these  trials  I  have  borne  a  part, 

I  was  myself  the  scourge  that  caused  the  smart; 

For,  since  fifteen,  in  triumph  have  I  led 

Five  captive  husbands  from  the  church  to  bed. 

Christ  saw  a  wedding  once,  the  Scripture  says, 
And  saw  but  one,  'tis  thought,  in  all  his  days ; 
Whence  some  infer,  whose  conscience  is  too  nice, 
No  pious  Christian  ought  to  marry  twice. 

But  let  them  read,  and  solve  me,  if  they  can, 
The  words  addressed  to  the  Samaritan: 
Five  times  in  lawful  wedlock  she  was  joined; 
And  sure  the  certain  stint  was  ne'er  defined. 

"Increase  and  multiply,"  was  Heaven's  command, 
And  that's  a  text  I  clearly  understand. 
This  too,  "  Let  men  their  sires  and  mothers  leave, 
And  to  their  dearer  wives  for  ever  cleave." 
viore  wives  than  one  by  Solomon  were  tried, 
Or  else  the  wisest  of  mankind's  belied. 


486    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

I've  had  myself  full  many  a  merry  fit; 
And  trust  in  Heaven  I  may  have  many  yet. 
For  when  my  transitory  spouse,  unkind, 
Shall  die,  and  leave  his  woeful  wife  behind, 
I'll  take  the  next  good  Christian  I  can  find. 

Paul,  knowing  one  could  never  serve  our  turn, 
Declared  'twas  better  far  to  wed  than  burn. 
There's  danger  in  assembling  fire  and  tow; 
I  grant  }em  that,  and  what  it  means  you  know. 
The  same  apostle  too  has  elsewhere  owned, 
No  precept  for  virginity  he  found: 
'Tis  but  a  counsel — and  we  women  still 
Take  which  we  like,  the  counsel,  or  our  will. 

I  envy  not  their  bliss,  if  he  or  she 
Think  fit  to  live  in  perfect  chastity; 
Pure  let  them  be,  and  free  from  taint  or  vice: 
I,  for  a  few  slight  spots,  am  not  so  nice. 
Heaven  calls  us  different  ways,  on  these  bestows 
One  proper  gift,  another  grants  to  those: 
Not  every  man's  obliged  to  sell  his  store, 
And  give  up  all  his  substance  to  the  poor; 
Such  as  are  perfect,  may,  I  can't  deny; 
But,  by  your  leaves,  divines,  so  am  not  I. 

Full  many  a  saint,  since  first  the  world  began, 
Lived  an  unspotted  maid,  in  spite  of  man; 
Let  such  (a  God's  name)  with  fine  wheat  be  fed, 
And  let  us  honest  wives  eat  barley-bread. 
For  me,  I'll  keep  the  post  assigned  by  Heav'n, 
And  use  the  copious  talent  it  has  giv'n: 
Let  my  good  spouse  pay  tribute,  do  me  right, 
And  keep  an  equal  reckoning  every  night: 
His  proper  body  is  not  his  but  mine, 
For  so  said  Paul,  and  Paul's  a  sound  divine. 

Know  then,  of  those  five  husbands  I  have  had, 
Three  were  just  tolerable,  two  were  bad. 
The  three  were  old,  but  rich  and  fond  beside, 
And  toiled  most  piteously  to  please  their  bride: 
But  since  their  wealth  (the  best  they  had)  was  mine, 
The  rest,  without  much  loss,  I  could  resign. 
Sure  to  be  loved,  I  took  no  pains  to  please, 
Yet  had  more  pleasure  far  than  they  had  ease. 

Presents  flowed  in  apace :  with  showers  of  gold, 
They  made  their  court,  like  Jupiter  of  old. 

If  I  but  smiled,  a  sudden  youth  they  found, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    48? 

And  a  new  palsy  seized  them  when  I  frowned. 

Ye  sovereign  wives!  give  ear,  and  understand, 
Thus  shall  ye  speak,  and  exercise  command. 
For  never  was  it  given  to  mortal  man 
To  lie  so  boldly  as  we  women  can: 
Forswear  fche  fact,  though  seen  with  both  his  eyes, 
And  call  your  maids  to  witness  how  he  lies. 
Hark,  old  Sir  Paul !  ('twas  thus  I  used  to  say,) 
Whence  is  your  neighbour's  wife  so  rich  and  gay? 
Treated,  caress'd,  where'er  she's  pleased  to  roam — 
I  sit  in  tatters,  and  immured  at  home. 
Why  to  her  house  dost  thou  so  oft  repair? 
Art  thou  so  am'rous?  and  is  she  so  fair? 
If  I  but  see  a  cousin  or  a  friend, 
Lord !  how  you  swell,  and  rage  like  any  fiend ! 
But  you  reel  home,  a  drunken  beastly  bearj 
Then  preach  till  midnight  in  your  easy  chair; 
Cry,  wives  are  false,  and  ev'ry  woman  evil, 
And  give  up  all  that's  female  to  the  devil. 

If  poor  (you  say)  she  drains  her  husband's  purse: 
If  rich,  she  keeps  her  priest,  or  something  worse; 
If  highly  born,  intolerably  vain, 
Vapours  and  pride  by-  turns  possess  her  brain, 
Now  gaily  mad,  now  sourly  splenetic, 
Freakish  when  well,  and  fretful  when  she's  sick. 
If  fair,  then  chaste  she  cannot  long  abide, 
By  pressing  youth  attacked  on  every  side: 
If  foul,  her  wealth  the  lusty  lover  lures, 
Or  else  her  wit  some  fool-gallant  procures, 
Or  else  she  dances  with  becoming  grace, 
Or  shape  excuses  the  defects  of  face. 
There  swims  no  goose  so  gray,  but  soon  or  late, 
She  finds  some  honest  gander  for  her  mate. 

Horses  (thou  sayest)  and  asses  men  may  try, 
And  ring  suspected  vessels  ere  they  buy: 
But  wives,  a  random  choice,  untried  they  take, 
They  dream  in  courtship,  but  in  wedlock  wake; 
Then,  not  till  then,  the  veil's  removed  away, 
And  all  the  woman  glares  in  open  day. 

You  tell  me,  to  preserve  your  wife's  good  grace, 
Your  eyes  must  always  languish  on  my  face, 
Your  tongue  with  constant  flatteries  feed  my  ear, 
And  tag  each  sentence  with,  My  life !  my  dear ! 
If  by  strange  chance,  a  modest  blush  be  raised, 


488    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Be  sure  my  fine  complexion  must  be  praised. 

My  garments  always  must  be  new  and  gay, 

And  feasts  still  kept  upon  my  wedding-day. 

Then  must  my  nurse  be  pleased,  and  favourite  maid; 

And  endless  treats,  and  endless  visits  paid, 

To  a  long  train  of  kindred,  friends,  allies; 

All  this  thou  say'st,  and  all  thou  say'st  are  lies. 

On  Jenkin,  too,  you  cast  a  squinting  eye; 
What?  can  your  'prentice  raise  your  jealousy? 
Fresh  are  his  ruddy  cheeks,  his  forehead  fair, 
And  like  the  burnish'd  gold  his  curling  hair. 
But  clear  thy  wrinkled  brow,  and  quit  thy  sorrow, 
I'd  scorn  your  'prentice,  should  you  die  to-morrow. 

Why  are  thy  chests  all  locked  ?  on  what  design  ? 
Are  not  thy  worldly  goods  and  treasure  mine  ? 
Sir,  I'm  no  fool;  nor  shall  you,  by  St.  John, 
Have  goods  and  body  to  yourself  alone. 
One  you  shall  quit,  in  spite  of  both  your  eyes — 
I  heed  not,  I,  the  bolts,  the  locks,  the  spies. 
If 'you  had  wit,  you'd  say,  "  Go  where  you  will, 
Dear  spouse,  I  credit  not  the  tales  they  tell: 
Take  all  the  freedoms  of  a  married  life; 
I  know  thee  for  a  virtuous,  faithful  wife." 

Lord !  when  you  have  enough,  what  need  you  care 
How  merrily  soever  others  fare  ? 
Though  all  the  day  I  give  and  take  delight, 
Doubt  not,  sufficient  will  be  left  at  night. 
'Tis  but  a  just  and  rational  desire, 
To  light  a  taper  at  a  neighbour's  fire. 

There's  danger  too,  you  think,  in  rich  array, 
And  none  can  long  be  modest  that  are  gay; 
The  cat,  if  you  but  singe  her  tabby  skin, 
The  chimney  keeps,  and  sits  content  within; 
But  once  grown  sleek,  will  from  her  corner  run, 
Sport  with  her  tail,  and  wanton  in  the  sun; 
She  licks  her  fair  round  face,  and  frisks  abroad, 
To  shew  her  fur,  and  to  be  caterwau'd. 

Lo  thus,  my  friends,  I  wrought  to  my  desires 
These  three  right  ancient  venerable  sires. 
I  told  'ern,  Thus  you  say,  and  thus  you  do, 
And  told  'em  false,  but  Jenkin  swore  'twas  true. 
I,  like  a  dog,  could  bite  as  well  as  whine, 
And  first  complained,  whene'er  the  guilt  was  mine. 
I  taxed  them  oft  with  wenching  and  amours, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    489 

When  their  weak  legs  scarce  dragged  'em  out  of 

doors; 

And  swore  the  rambles  that  I  took  by  night, 
Were  all  to  spy  what  damsels  they  bedight. 
That  colour  brought  me  many  hours  of  mirth; 
For  all  this  wit  is  given  us  from  our  birth. 
Heav'n  gave  to  woman  the  peculiar  grace 
To  spin,  to  weep,  and  cully  human  race. 
By  this  nice  conduct,  and  this  prudent  course, 
By  murmuring,  wheedling,  stratagem,  and  force, 
I  still  prevailed,  and  would  be  in  the  right, 
Or  curtain-lectures  made  a  restless  night. 
If  once  my  husband's  arm  was  o'er  my  side, 
What!  so  familiar  with  your  spouse?  I  cried: 
I  levied  tirst  a  tax  upon  his  need; 
Then  let  him — 'twas  a  nicety  indeed ! 
Let  all  mankind  this  certain  maxim  hold, 
Marry  who  will,  our  sex  is  to  be  sold. 
With  empty  hands  no  tarsels  you  can  lure, 
But  fulsome  love  for  gain  we  can  endure; 
For  gold  we  love  the  impotent  and  old, 
And  heave,  and  pant,  and  kiss,  and  cling,  for  gold. 
Yet  with  embraces,  curses  oft  I  mixed, 
Then  kissed  again^  and  chid  and  railed  betwixt. 
Well,  I  may  make  my  will  in  peace,  and  die, 
For  not  one  word  in  man's  arrears  am  I. 
To  drop  a  dear  dispute  I  was  unable, 
Even  though  the  pope  himself  had  sat  at  table, 
But  when  my  point  was  gained,  then  thus  I  spoke  :— 
"  Billy,  my  dear,  how  sheepishly  you  look ! 
Approach,  my  spouse,  and  let  me  kiss  thy  cheek; 
Thou  shouldst  be  always  thus,  resigned  and  meek ! 
Of  Job's  great  patience  since  so  oft  you  preach, 
Well  should  you  practise,  who  so  well  can  teach. 
'Tis  difficult  to  do,  I  must  allow, 
But  I,  my  dearest,  will  instruct  you  how. 
Great  is  the  blessing  of  a  prudent  wife, 
Who  puts  a  period  to  domestic  strife. 
One  of  us  two  must  rule,  and  one  obey; 
And  since  in  man  right  reason  bears  the  sway, 
Let  that  frail  thing,  weak  woman,  have  her  way. 
The  wives  of  all  my  family  have  ruled 
Their  tender  husbands,  and  their  passions  cooled, 
Fie,  'tis  unmanly  thus  to  sigh  and  groan; 


490    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

What!  would  you  have  me  to  yourself  alone? 
Why  take  me,  love !  take  all  and  every  part ! 
Here's  your  revenge !  you  love  it  at  }Tour  hear 
Would  I  vouchsafe  to  sell  what  nature  gave, 
You  little  think  what  custom  I  could  have. 
But  see !  I'm  all  your  own — nay  hold — for  shame , 
What  means  my  dear — indeed — you  are  to  blame." 

Thus  with  my  first  three  lords  I  passed  my  life; 
A  very  woman,  and  a  very  wife. 
What  sums  from  these  old  spouses  I  could  raise, 
Procured  young  husbands  in  my  riper  days. 
Though  past  my  bloom,  not  yet  decay'd  was  I, 
Wanton  and  wild,  and  chatter'd  like  a  pie. 
In  country  dances  still  I  bore  the  bell, 
And  sung  as  sweet  as  evening  Philomel. 
To  clear  my  quail-pipe,  and  refresh  my  soul, 
Full  oft  I  drain'd  the  spicy  nut-brown  bowl; 
Rich  luscious  wines,  that  youthful  blood  improve, 
And  warm  the  swelling  veins  to  feats  of  love: 
For  'tis  as  sure  as  cold  engenders  hail, 
A  liquorish  mouth  must  have  a  lecherous  tail; 
Wine  lets  no  lover  unrewarded  go, 
As  all  true  gamesters  by  experience  know. 

But  oh,  good  gods !  whene'er  a  thought  I  cast 
On  all  the  joys  of  youth  and  beauty  past, 
To  find  in  pleasures  I  have  had  my  part, 
Still  warms  me  to  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
This  wicked  world  was  once  my  dear  delight; 
Now  all  my  conquests,  all  my  charms,  good  night. 
The  flour  consumed,  the  best  that  now  I  can, 
Is  even  to  make  my  market  of  the  bran. 

My  fourth  dear  spouse  was  not  exceeding  true; 
He  kept,  'twas  thought,  a  private  miss  or  two: 
But  all  that  score  I  paid — as  how?  you'll  say. 
Not  with  my  body,  in  a  filthy  way: 
But  I  so  dressed,  and  danced,  and  drank,  and  dined; 
And  viewed  a  friend,  with  eyes  so  very  kind, 
As  stung  his  heart,  and  made  his  marrow  fiy, 
With  burning  rage,  and  frantic  jealousy. 
His  soul,  I  hope,  enjoys  eternal  glory, 
For  here  on  earth  I  was  his  purgatory. 
Oft,  when  his  shoe  the  most  severely  wrung, 
He  put  on  careless  airs,  and  sat  and  sung. 
How  sore  I  galled  him,  only  Heaven  could  know, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    401 

And  lie  that  felt,  and  I  that  caused  the  woe. 
He  died,  when  last  from  pilgrimage  I  came> 
"With  other  gossips  from  Jerusalem: 
And  now  lies  buried  underneath  a  rood 
Fair  to  be  seen,  and  reared  of  honest  wood. 
A  tomb,  indeed,  with  fewer  sculptures  graced 
Than  that  Mausolus'  pious  widow1  placed, 
Or  where  enshrined  the  great  Darius  lay; 
But  cost  on  graves  is  merely  thrown  away. 
The  pit  fill'd  up,  with  turf  we  covered  o'er 
So  bless  the  good  man's  soul,  I  say  no  more. 

Now  for  my  fifth  loved  lord,  the  last  and  best; 
(Kind  Heaven  afford  him  everlasting  rest !) 
Full  hearty  was  his  love,  and  I  can  shew 
The  tokens  on  my  ribs  in  black  and  blue; 
Yet,  with  a  knack,  my  heart  he  could  have  won, 
While  yet  the  smart  was  shooting  in  the  bone. 
How  quaint  an  appetite  in  woman  reigns ! 
Free  gifts  we  scorn,  and  love  what  costs  us  pains: 
Let  men  avoid  us,  and  on  them  we  leap; 
A  glutted  market  makes  provision  cheap. 

In  pure  good  will  I  took  this  jovial  spark» 
Of  Oxford  he,  a  most  egregious  clerk. 
He  boarded  with  a  widow  in  the  town, 
A  trusty  gossip,  one  dame  Allison: 
Full  well  the  secrets  of  my  soul  she  knew, 
Better  than  e'er  our  parish  priest  could  do. 
To  her  I  told  whatever  could  befall: 

Had  but  my  husband  p d  against  a  wall, 

Or  done  a  thing  that  might  have  cost  his  life, 
She — and  my  niece — and  one  more  worthy  wife, 
Had  known  it  all:  what  most  he  would  conceal, 
To  these  I  made  no  scruple  to  reveal. 
Oft  has  he  blush'd  from  ear  to  ear  for  shame, 
That  e'er  he  told  a  secret  to  his  dame. 

It  so  befell,  in  holy  time  of  Lent, 
That  oft  a  day  I  to  this  gossip  went; 
(My  husband,  thank  my  stars,  was  out  of  town:) 
From  house  to  house  we  rambled  up  and  down, 
This  clerk,  myself,  and  my  good  neighbor  Alse, 
To  see,  be  seen,  to  tell,  and  gather  tales. 
Visits  to  every  church,  we  daily  paid, 

i  Artemisia,  Queen  of  Caria, 


492    IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETH 

And  march'd  in  every  holy  masquerade, 

The  stations  duly  and  the  vigils  kept; 

Not  much  we  fasted,  but  scarce  ever  slept. 

At  sermons  too  I  shone  in  scarlet  gay, 

The  wasting  moth  ne'er  spoil'd  my  best  array; 

The  cause  was  this,  I  wore  it  every  day. 

'Twas  when  fresh  May  her  early  blossoms  yields> 

This  clerk  and  I  were  walking  in  the  fields. 

We  grew  so  intimate,  I  can't  tell  how, 

I  pawn'd  my  honour  and  engaged  my  vow 

If  e'er  I  laid  my  husband  in  his  urn, 

That  he,  and  only   he,  should  serve  my  turn. 

We  straight  struck  hands,  the  bargain  was  agreed; 

I  still  have  shifts  against  a  time  of  need: 

The  mouse  that  always  trusts  to  one  poor  hole, 

Can  never  be  a  mouse  of  any  soul. 

I  vowed  I  scarce  could  sleep  since  first  I  knew  him, 
And  thus  besworn  he  had  bewitch'd  me  to  him, 
If  e'er  I  slept,  I  dreamed  of  him  alone, 
And  dreams  foretell,  as  learned  men  have  shewn: 
All  this  I  said;  but  dreams,  sir,  I  had  none: 
I  follow'd  but  my  crafty  crony's  lore, 
Who  bid  me  tell  this  lie — and  twenty  more. 

Thus  day  by  day  and  month  by  month  we  pass'd: 
It  pleased  the  Lord  to  take  my  spouse  at  last. 
I  tore  my  gown,  I  soil'd  my  locks  with  dust, 
And  beat  my  breasts,  as  wretched  widows — must. 
Before  my  face  my  handkerchief  I  spread, 
To  hide  the  flood  of  tears  I  did — not  shed. 
The  good  man's  coffin  to  the  church  was  borne; 
Around,  the  neighbors,  and  my  clerk,  to  mourn. 
But  as  he  march'd,  good  gods !  he  shew'd  a  pair 
Of  legs  and  feet,  so  clean,  so  strong,  so  fair ! 
Of  twenty  winters'  age  he  seemed  to  be; 
I  (to  say  truth)  was  twenty  more  than  he; 
But  vig'rous  still,  a  lively  buxom  dame; 
And  had  a  wondrous  gift  to  quench  a  flame. 
A  conjuror  once,  that  deeply  could  divine, 
Assured  me,  Mars  in  Taurus  was  my  sign. 
As  the  stars  ordered,  such  my  life  has  been: 
Alas !  alas !  that  ever  love  was  sin ! 
Fair  Venus  gave  me  fire,  and  sprightly  grace, 
And  Mars  assurance,  and  a  dauntless  face. 
By  virtue  of  this  powerful  constellation, 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.    493 

I  followed  always  my  own  inclination. 

But  to  my  tale:  A  month  scarce  passed  away, 
With  dance  and  song  we  kept  the  nuptial  day. 
All  I  possessed  I  gave  to  his  command, 
My  goods  and  chattels,  money,  house,  and  land: 
But  oft  repented,  and  repented  still; 
He  proved  a  rebel  to  my  sov'reign  will: 
Nay,  once  by  Heaven  he  struck  me  on  the  face; 
Hear  but  the  fact,  and  judge  yourselves  the  case. 

Stubborn  as  any  lioness  was  I; 
And  knew  full  well  to  raise  my  voice  on  high; 
As  true  a  rambler  as  I  was  before, 
And  would  be  so,  in  spite  of  all  he  swore. 
He,  against  this  right  sagely  would  advise, 
And  old  examples  set  before  my  eyes; 
Tell  how  the  Koman  matrons  led  their  life, 
Of  Gracchus'  mother,  and  Duilius5  wife; 
And  close  the  sermon,  as  beseemed  his  wit, 
With  some  grave  sentence  out  of  Holy  Writ. 
Oft  would  he  say,  "  Who  builds  his  house  on  sands, 
Pricks  his  blind  horse  across  the  fallow  lands; 
Or  lets  his  wife  abroad  with  pilgrims  roam, 
Deserves  a  fool's-cap  and  long  ears  at  home." 
All  this  availed  not;  for  whoe'er  he  be 
That  tells  my  faults,  I  hate  him  mortally: 
And  so  do  numbers  more,  I'll  boldly  say, 
Men,  women,  clergy,  regular  and  lay. 

My  spouse  (who  was,  you  know,  to  learning  bred) 
A  certain  treatise  oft  at  evening  read, 
Where  divers  authors  (whom  the  devil  confound 
For  all  their  lies!)  were  in  one  volume  bound. 
Valerius,  whole;  and  of  St.  Jerome,  part; 
Chrysippus  and  Tertullian,  Ovid's  Art, 
Solomon's  Proverbs,  Elo'isa's  loves; 
And  many  more  than  sure  the  Church  approves. 
More  legends  were  there  here,  of  wicked  wives, 
Than  good,  in  all  the  Bible  and  saints'  lives. 
Who  drew  the  lion,  vanquished !     'Twas  a  man ! 
But  could  we  women  write  as  scholars  can, 
Men  should  stand  mark'd  with  far  more  wickedness 
Than  all  the  sons  of  Adam  could  redress. 
Love  seldom  haunts  the  breast  where  learning  lies, 
And  Yenus  sets  ere  Murcury  can  rise. 
Those  play  the  scholars  who  can't  play  the  men, 


491     IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS. 

And  use  that  weapon  which  they  have,  their  pen; 
When  old,  and  past  the  relish  of  delight, 
Then  down  they  sit,  and  in  their  dotage  write, 
That  not  one  woman  keeps  her  marriage  vow. 
(This  by  the  way,  but  to  my  purpose  now.) 

It  chanced  my  husband  on  a  winter's  night, 
Read  in  this  book,  aloud,  with  strange  delight, 
How  the  first  female  (as  the  Scripture  shew) 
Brought  her  own  spouse  and  all  his  race  to  woe. 
How  Samson  fell;  and  he1  whom  Dejanire 
Wrapp'd  in  the  envenom'd  shirt,  and  set  on  fire. 
How  cursed  Eryphile  her  lord  be  tray 'd,2 
And  the  dire  ambush  Clytemnestra  laid. 
But  what  most  pleased  him  was  the  Cretan  dame, 
And  husband-bull — oh,  monstrous !  fie  for  shame ! 

He  had  by  heart,  the  whole  detail  of  woe 
Xantippe  made  her  good  man  undergo; 
How  oft  she  scolded  in  a  day,  he  knew, 
How  many  jordens  on  the  sage  she  threw; 
Who  took  it  patiently,  and  wiped  his  head; 
"Rain  follows  thunder:''  that  was  all  he  said. 

He  read  how  Arius  to  his  friend  complained, 
A  fatal  tree  was  growing  in  his  land, 
On  which  three  wives  successively  had  twined 
A  sliding  noose,  and  wavered  in  the  wind,     [where  ? 
"  Where  grows  this  plant,"  (replied  the  friend,)  "  oh, 
For  better  fruit  did  never  orchard  bear, 
Give  me  some  slip  of  this  most  blissful  tree, 
And  in  my  garden  planted  shall  it  be." 

Then  how  two  wives  their  lords'  destruction  prove, 
Through  hatred  one,  and  one  through  too  much  love; 
That  for  her  husband  mix'd  a  poisonous  draught, 
And  this  for  lust  an  amorous  philtre  bought: 
The  nimble  juice  soon  seized  his  giddy  head, 
Frantic  at  night,  and  in  the  morning  dead.        [slain, 

How  some  with  swords  their  sleeping  lords  have 
And  some  have  hammer'd  nails  into  their  brain, 
And  some  have  drenched  them  with  a  deadly  potion; 
All  this  he  read,  and  read  with  great  devotion. 

Long  time  I  heard,  and  swelled,  and  blushed  and 

frowned; 
But  when  no  end  of  these  vile  tales  I  found, 

»  Hercules.  a  Wife  of  Araphiaraus. 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS.     495 

"When  still  lie  read,  and  laughed,  and  read  again, 
And  half  the  night  was  thus  consumed  in  vain; 
Provoked  to  vengeance,  three  large  leaves  I  tore, 
And  with  one  buffet  felled  him  on  the  floor. 
With  that  my  husband  in  a  fury  rose, 
And  down  he  settled  me  with  hearty  blows. 
I  groaned  and  lay  extended  on  my  side; 
"Oh!  th@u  hast  slain  me  for  my  wealth/'  (I  cried;) 
"  Yet  I  forgive  thee — take  my  last  embrace — 
He  wept,  kind  soul !  and  stooped  to  kiss  my  face ! 
I  took  him  such  a  box  as  turn'd  him  blue, 
Then  sighed  and  cried,  "  Adieu,  iny  dear,  adieu !" 

But  after  many  a  hearty  struggle  past, 
I  condescended  to  be  pleased  at  last. 
Soon  as  he  said,  "  My  mistress  and  my  wife, 
Do  what  you  list,  the  term  of  all  your  life:" 
I  took  to  heart  the  merits  of  the  cause, 
And  stood  content  to  rule  by  wholesome  laws; 
Received  the  reins  of  absolute  command, 
With  all  the  government  of  house  and  land, 
And  empire  o'er  his  tongue,  and  o'er  his  hand. 
As  for  the  volume  that  reviled  the  dames, 
'Twas  torn  to  fragments,  and  condemned  to  flames. 

Now  Heaven,  on  all  my  husbands  gone,  bestow 
Pleasures  above,  for  tortures  felt  below: 
That  rest  they  wished  for,  grant  them  in  the  grave, 
And  bless  those  souls  my  conduct  helped  to  save  i 


496 

THE    SATIRES   OF   DR. 
DONNE, 

(DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL'S,)  VERSIFIED. 

Dr.  Donne  was  a  very  celebrated  divine  and  poet  in  his  day. 
He  was  born  1573,  and  died  1631.  Dryden  says  of  him,  «•  he  was  the 
greatest  wit,  though  not  the  greatest  poet,  of  our  nation"  and 
he  (Dryden)  praises  these  Satires  highly.  Pope  modernized  them  at 
the  request  of  the  Duke  of  Shrewsbury  and  Lord  Oxford.  The  life 
of  Donne  is  a  romance. 


Quid  vetat  et  nosmet  Lucili  scripta  legentes 
Quserere  num  illius,  num  rerum  dura  negarit 
Versiculos  natura  magis  factos,  et  euntes 
Mollius?  HOB. 

SATIRE    H. 

YES;  thank  my  stars !  as  early  as  I  knew 

This  town,  I  had  the  sense  to  hate  it  too: 

Yet  here,  as  ev'n  in  hell,  there  must  be  still 

One  giant-vice  so  excellently  ill, 

That  all  beside,  one  pities,  not  abhors; 

As  wno  knows  Sappho,  smiles  at  other  w s. 

I  grant  that  poetry's  a  crying  sin; 
It  brought  (no  doubt)  the  excise  and  army  in: 
Catched  like  the  plague,  or  love,  the  Lord  knows  how; 
But  that  the  cure  is  starving,  all  allow. 
Yet  like  the  Papist's,  is  the  poet's  state, 
Poor  and  disarmed,  and  hardly  worth  your  hate ! 

Here  a  lean  bard,  whose  wit  could  never  give 
Himself  a  dinner,  makes  an  actor  live: 
The  thief  condemned,  in  law  already  dead, 
So  prompts,  and  saves  a  rogue  who  cannot  read. 
Thus  as  the  pipes  of  some  carved  organ  move. 
The  gilded  puppets  dance  and  mount  above. 
Heaved  by  the  breath,  th'  inspiring  bellows  blow: 
Th'  inspiring  bellows  lie  and  pant  below. 

One  sings  the  fair;  but  songs  no  longer  move; 
No  rat  is  rhymed  to  death,  nor  maid  to  love: 


THE  SATIRES  OF  DE.  DONNE.        497 

In  love's,  in  nature's  spite,  the  seige  they  hold, 
And  scorn  the  flesh,  the  devil,  and  all  but  gold. 

These  write  to  lords,  some  mean  reward  to  get, 
As  needy  beggars  sing  at  doors  for  meat. 
Those  write  because  all  write,  and  so  have  still 
Excuse  for  writing,  and  for  writing  ill 

Wretched  indeed !  but  far  more  wretched  yet 
Is  he  who  makes  his  meal  on  others'  wit: 
'Tis  changed  no  doubt,  from  what  it  was  before- 
His  rank  digestion  makes  it  wit  no  more: 
Sense,  passed  through  him,  no  longer  is  the  same; 
For  food  digested  takes  another  name. 

I  pass  o'er  all  those  confessors  and  martyrs 
Who  live  like  Button,  or  who  die  like  Chartres. 
Out-cant  old  Esdras,  or  out-drink  his  heir, 
Out-usure  Jews,  or  Irishmen  out-swear; 
Wicked  as  pages,  who  in  early  years 
Act  sins  which  Prisca's  confessor  scarce  hears. 
Even  those  I  pardon,  for  whose  sinful  sake 
Schoolmen  new  tenements  in  hell  must  make; 
Of  whose  strange  crimes  no  canonist  can  tell 
In  what  commandment's  large  contents  they  dwell 

One,  one  man  only  breeds  my  just  offence; 
Whom  crimes  gave  wealth,  and  wealth  gave  impu- 
Time,  that  at  last  matures  a — to — ,  [dence; 

Whose  gentle  progress  makes  a  calf  an  ox, 
And  brings  all  natural  events  to  pass, 
Hath  made  him  an  attorney  of  an  ass. 
No  young  divine,  new  beneficed,  can  be 
More  pert,  more  proud,  more  positve  than  he. 
What  further  could  I  wish  the  fop  to  do, 
But  turn  a  wit,  and  scribble  verses  too; 
Pierce  the  soft  lab'rinth  of  a  lady's  ear 
With  rhymes  of  this  per  cent,  and  that  per  year  ? 
Or  court  a  wife,  spread  out  his  wily  parts, 
Like  nets,  or  lime-twigs,  for  rich  widows'  hearts; 
Call  himself  barrister  to  ev'ry  wench, 
And  woo  in  language  of  the  Pleas  and  Bench  ? 
Language,  which  Boreas  might  to  Auster  hold, 
More  rough  than  forty  Germans  when  they  scold. 

Cursed  be  the  wretch,  so  venal  and  so  vain: 
Paltry  and  proud,  as  drabs  in  Drury  Lane. 
'Tis  such  a  bounty  as  was  never  known, 
If  PETER1  deigns  to  help  you  to  your  oivn9 


408         THE  SATIRES  OF  DR.  DONNE. 

What  thanks,  what  praise,  if  Peter  but  supplies  ! 

And  what  a  solemn  face,  if  he  denies ! 

Grave,  as  when  prisoners  shake  the  head  and  swear 

'Twas  only  suretyship  that  brought  them  there. 

His  office  keeps  your  parchment  fates  entire, 

He  starves  with  cold  to  save  them  from  the  fire; 

For  you  he  walks  the  streets  through  rain  or  dust, 

For  not  in  chariots  Peter  puts  his  trust; 

For  you  he  sweats  and  labours  at  the  laws, 

Takes  God  to  witness  he  affects  your  cause, 

And  lies  to  ev'ry  lord,  in  ev'ry  thing, 

Like  a  king's  favourite — or  like  a  king. 

These  are  the  talents  that  adorn  them  all, 

From  wicked  Waters  even  to  godly ; 

Not  more  of  simony  beneath  black  gowns, 

Nor  more  of  bastardy  in  heirs  to  crowns, 

In  shillings  and  in  pence  at  first  they  deal; 

And  steal  so  little,  few  perceive  they  steal: 

Till,  like  the  sea,  they  compass  all  the  land, 

From  Scots  to  Wight,  from  Mount  to  Dover  strand: 

****** 

OR  city-heir,  in  mortgage  melts  away; 

Sedan  himself  feels  far  less  joy  than  they. 

Piecemeal  they  win  this  acre  first,  then  that, 

Glean  on,  and  gather  up  the  whole  estate. 

Then  strongly  fencing  ill-got  wealth  by  law, 

Indenture,  covenants,  articles  they  draw, 

Large  a/i  the  fields  themselves,  and  larger  far 

Than  civil  codes,  with  all  their  glosses,  are: 

So  vast,  our  new  divines,  we  must  confess, 

Are  fathers  of  the  church  for  writing  less. 

But  let  them  write  for  you,  each  rogue  impairs 

The  deeds,  and  dexterously  omits,  ses  heires: 

No  commentator  can  more  slily  pass 

O'er  a  learn'd  unintelligible  place; 

Or,  in  quotation,  shrewd  divines  leave  out      [doubt. 

Those  words,  that  would  against  them   clear  the 

So  Luther  thought  the  paternoster  long, 
When  doom'd  to  say  his  beads  and  even-song; 
But  having  cast  his  cowl,  and  left  those  laws, 
Adds  to  Christ's  prayer,  the  power  and  glory  clause. 
The  lands  are  bought;  but  where  are  to  be  found 

i  See  note  ante,  p.  245. 


THE  SATIRES  OF  DR.  DONNE.        499 

Those  ancient  woods  that  shaded  all  the  ground  ? 

We  see  no  new-built  palaces  aspire, 

No  kitchens  emulate  the  vestal  fire.  Lvore 

Where  are  those  troops  of  poor,  that  thronged  of 

The  good  old  landlord's  hospitable  door? 

Well,  I  could  wish,  that  still  in  lordly  domes  [tombs; 

Some  beasts  were  killed,  though  not  whole  heca- 

That  both  extremes  were  banished  from  their  walls, 

Carthusian  fasts,  and  fulsome  bacchanals; 

And  all  mankind  might  that  just  mean  observe, 

In  which  none  e'er  could  surfeit,  none  could  starve. 

These  as  good  works,  'tis  true,  we  all  allow, 

But  oh !  these  works  are  not  in  fashion  now, 

Like  rich  old  wardrobes,  things  extremely  rare, 

Extremely  fine,  but  what  no  man  will  wear. 

Thus  much  I've  said,  I  trust,  without  offence; 
Let  no  court  sycophant  pervert  my  sense, 
Nor  sly  informer  watch  these  words  to  draw 
Within  the  reach  of  treason,  or  the  law. 


SATIRE  IV. 

WELL,  if  it  be  my  time  to  quit  the  stage, 
Adieu  to  all  the  follies  of  the  age ! 
I  die  in  charity  with  fool  and  knave, 
Secure  of  peace  at  least  beyond  the  grave. 
I've  had  my  purgatory  here  betimes, 
And  paid  for  all  my  satires,  all  my  rhymes. 
The  poet's  hell,  its  tortures,  fiends,  and  flames, 
To  this  were  trifles,  toys,  and  empty  names. 

With  foolish  pride,  my  heart  was  never  fired, 
Nor  the  vain  itch  t'  admire,  or  be  admired; 
I  hoped  for  no  commission  from  his  grace: 
I  bought  no  benefice,  I  begged  no  place; 
Had  no  new  verses,  nor  new  suit  to  shew; 
Yet  went  to  court ! — the  dev'l  would  have  it  so. 
But,  as  the  fool  that  in  reforming  days 
Would  go  to  mass  in  jest  (as  story  says) 
Could  not  but  think,  to  pay  his  fine  was  odd, 


500        THE  SATIRES  OF  DR.  DONNE. 

Since  'twas  no  formed  design  of  serving  God; 

80  was  I  punished,  as  if  full  as  proud, 

As  prone  to  ill,  as  negligent  of  good, 

As  deep  in  debt,  without  a  thought  to  pay, 

As  vain,  as  idle,  and  as  false,  as  they 

Who  live  at  court,  for  going  once  that  way  ! 

Scarce  was  I  entered,  when,  behold  !  there  came 

A  thing  which  Adam  had  been  posed  to  name; 

Noah  had  refused  it  lodging  in  his  ark, 

Where  all  the  race  of  reptiles  might  embark: 

A  verier  monster,  than  on  Afric's  shore 

The  sun  e'er  got,  or  slimy  Nilus  bore, 

Or  Sloane1  or  Woodward's  wondrous  shelves  contain, 

Nay,  all  that  lying  travellers  can  feign. 

The  watch  would  hardly  let  him  pass  at  noon, 

At  night  would  swear  him  dropt  out  of  the  moon. 

One,  whom  the  mob,  when  next  we  find  or  make 

A  Popish  plot,  shall  for  a  Jesuit  take, 

And  the  wise  justice,  starting  from  his  chair, 

Cry,  By  your  priesthood  tell  me  what  you  are  ? 

Such  was  the  wight:  th'  apparel  on  his  back, 

Though  coarse,  was  rev  Vend,  and  though  bare,  was 

black : 

The  suit,  if  by  the  fashion  one  might  guess, 
Was  velvet  in  the  youth  of  good  Queen  Bess, 
But  mere  tuff-taffety  what  now  remained; 
So  Time,  that  changes  all  things,  had  ordained ! 
Our  sons  shall  see  it  leisurely  decay, 
First  turn  plain  rash,  then  vanish  quite  away. 

This  thing  has  travelled,  speaks  each  language  too, 
And  knows  what's  fit  for  every  state  to  do; 
Of  whose  best  phrase  and  courtly  accent  joined, 
He  forms  one  tongue,  exotic  and  refined. 
Talkers  I've  learned  to  bear;  Motteux  I  knew, 
Henley  himself  I've  heard,  and  Budgell  too. 
The  Doctor's  Wormwood  style,  the  hash  of  tongues 
A  pedant  makes,  the  storm  of  Gonson's  lungs, 
The  whole  artillery  of  the  terms  of  war, 
And  (all  those  plagues  in  one)  the  bawling  bar; 
These  I  could  bear;  but  not  a  rogue  so  civil, 
Whose  tongue  will  compliment  you  to  the  devil; 
A  tongue  that  can  cheat  widows,  cancel  scores, 

1  An  allusion  to  Sir  Hans  Sloauo's  Museum. 


THE  SATIRES  OF  DE.  DONNE.        501 

Make  Scots  speak  treason,  cozen  subtlest  w 

With  royal  favourites  in  flatt'ry  vie, 
And  Oldmixon  and  Burnet  both  outlie. 

He  spies  me  out:  I  whisper,  gracious  God! 
What  sin  of  mine  could  merit  such  a  rod  ? 
That  ah1  the  shot  of  dulness  now  must  be 
From  this  thy  blunderbuss  discharged  on  me ! 
"Permit"  (he  cries)  "no  stranger  to  your  fame 

To  crave  your  sentimens,  if 's  your  name. 

What  speech  esteem  you  most  ?  *  The  king's/  said  I. 
But  the  best  words  ? — '  O,  sir,  the  dictionary.' " 
"You  miss  my  aim;  I  mean  the  most  acute, 
And  perfect  speaker  f — '  Onslow,  past  dispute/ 
But,  sir,  of  writers  ?  '  Swift  for  closer  style, 
But  Hoadly  for  a  period  of  a  mile/ 
Why  yes,  'tis  granted,  these  indeed  may  pass: 
Good  common  linguists,  and  so  Panurge  was; 
Nay,  troth  the  apostles  (though  perhaps  too  rough) 
Had  once  a  pretty  gift  of  tongues  enough: 
Yet  these  were  aU  poor  gentlemen !  I  dare 
Affirm,  'twas  travel  made  them  what  they  were." 

Thus  other  talents  having  nicely  shown, 
He  came  by  sure  transition  to  his  own: 
Till  I  cried  out,  "  You  prove  yourself  so  able, 
Pity!  you  was  not  dragoman  at  Babel; 
For  had  they  found  a  linguist  half  so  good, 
I  make  no  question  but  the  tower  had  stood. 

'  Obliging  sir !  for  courts  you  sure  were  made, 
Why  then  for  ever  buried  in  the  shade  ? 
Spirits  like  you  should  see  and  should  be  seen, 
The  king  would  smile  on  you — at  least  the  queen/ 
'Ah,  gentle  sir!  you  courtiers  so  cajole  us — 
But  Tully  ha  s  it,  Nunquain  minus  solus : 
And  as  for  courts,  forgive  me  if  I  say 
No  lessons  now  are  taught  the  Spartan  way: 
Though  in  his  pictures  lust  be  full  display 'd, 
Few  are  the  converts  Aretine1  has  made: 
And  though  the  court  shew  vice  exceeding  clear, 
None  should,  by  my  advice,  learn  virtue  there.' 

At  this  entranced,  he  lifts  his  hands  and  eyes, 
Squeaks  like  a  high-stretch'd  lutestring,  and  replies 
'  Oh,  'tis  the  sweetest  of  all  earthly  things 

i  A  celebrated  Italian  poet,  who  lost  the  favour  of  Leo  X.  by 
writing  infamous  sonnets. 


502         THE  SATIRES  OF  DR.  DONNE. 

To  gaze  on  princes,  and  to  talk  of  kings  F 

'  Then,  happy  man  who  shews  the  tombs!' "  said  I, 

He  dwells  amidst  tho  royal  family; 

He  ev'ry  day  from,  king  to  king  can  walk, 

Of  all  our  Harries,  all  our  Edwards  talk, 

And  get  by  speaking  truth  of  monarchs  dead 

What  few  can  of  the  living,  ease  and  bread. 

"  Lord,  sir,  a  mere  mechanic !  strangely  low, 

And  coarse  of  phrase, — jour  English  all  are  so. 

How  elegant  your  Frenchmen  ?"  "  Mine,  d'ye  mean  ? 

I  have  but  one,  I  hope  the  fellow's  clean." 

"  Oh !  sir,  politely  so !  nay,  let  me  die, 

Your  only  wearing  is  your  paduasoy." 

"  Not,  sir,  my  only,  I  have  better  still, 

And  this  you  see  is  but  my  dishabille." — 

Wild  to  get  loose,  his  patience  I  provoke, 

Mistake,  confound,  object  at  all  he  spoke: 

But  as  coarse  iron,  sharpened,  mangles  more, 

And  itch  most  hurts  when  angered  to  a  sore; 

So  when  you  plague  a  fool,  'tis  still  the  curse, 

You  only  make  the  matter  worse  and  worse. 

He  passed  it  o'er;  affects  an  easy  smile 
At  all  my  peevishness,  and  turns  his  style. 
He  asks,  "  What  news  ?"  I  tell  him  of  new  plays, 
New  singers,  harlequins,  and  operas. 
He  hears,  and  as  a  still  with  simples  in  it, 
Between  each  drop  it  gives,  stays  half  a  minute, 
Loth  to  enrich  me  with  too  quick  replies, 
By  little,  and  by  little,  drops  his  lies.  [shows, 

Mere  household   trash  !    of  birthnights,  balls,    and 
More  than  ten  Hollinsheds,  or  Halls,  or  Stowes. 
When  the  queen  frowned,  or  smiled,  he  knows;  and 
A  subtle  minister  may  make  of  that:  [what 

Who  sins  with  whom:  who  got  his  pension  rug, 
Or  quicken' d  a  reversion  by  a  drug: 
Whose  place  is  quartered  out  three  parts  in  four, 

And  whether  to  a  Bishop  or  a  w ; 

Who,  having  lost  his  credit,  pawned  his  rent, 

Is  therefore  fit  to  have  a  government: 

Who  in  the  secret,  deals  in  stocks  secure, 

And  cheats  th'  unknowing  widow  and  the  poor: 

Who  makes  the  trust  of  charity  a  job, 

And  gets  an  act  of  Parliament  to  rob : 

Why  turnpikes  rise,  and  now  no  cit  nor  clown 


THE  SATIRES  OF  DR  DONNE.        503 

Can  gratis  see  the  country,  or  the  town: 
Shortly  no  lad  shall  chuck,  or  lady  vole,1 
But  some  excising  courtier  will  have  toll. 

As  one  of  Woodward's  patients,  sick,  and  sore, 
I  puke,  I  nauseate, — yet  he  thrusts  in  more : 
Trims  Europe's  balance,  tops  the  statesman's  part, 
And  talks  Gazettes  and  Post-boys  o'er  by  heart. 
Like  a  big  wife  at  sight  of  loathsome  meat 
Ready  to  cast,  I  yawn,  I  sigh,  and  sweat. 
Then  as  a  licensed  spy,  whom  nothing  can 
Silence  or  hurt,  he  libels  the  great  man; 
Swears  every  place  entailed  for  years  to  come, 
In  sure  succession  to  the  day  of  doom : 
He  names  the  price  for  ev'ry  office  paid, 
And  says  our  wars  thrive  ill,  because  delayed: 
Nay,  hints,  'tis  by  connivance  of  the  court, 
That  Spain  robs  on,  and  Dunkirk's  still  a  port. 
Not  more  amazement  seized  on  Circe's  guests, 
To  see  themselves  fall  endlong  into  beasts, 
Than  mine,  to  find  a  subject  staid  and  wise 
Already  half  turn'd  traitor  by  surprise. 
I  felt  th'  infection  slide  from  him  to  me, 
As  in  the  pox,  some  give  it  to  get  free; 
And  quick  to  swallow  me,  methought  I  saw 
One  of  our  giant  statues  ope  its  jaw. 

In  that  nice  moment,  as  another  lie 
Stood  just  a-tilt,  the  minister  came  by. 
To  him  he  flies,  and  bows,  and  bows  again, 
Then,  close  as  Umbra,2  joins  the  dirty  train. 
Not  Fannius'  self  more  impudently  near, 
When  half  his  nose  is  in  his  Prince's  ear. 
I  quaked  at  heart;  and  still  afraid,  to  see 
All  the  court  filled  with  stranger  things  than  he,3 
Ean  out  as  fast  as  one,  that  pays  his  bail 
And  dreads  more  actions,  hurries  from  a  gaol. 

Bear  me,  some  god !  oh,  quicldy  bear  me  hence 
To  wholesome  solitude,  the  nurse  of  sense: 
Where  Contemplation  prunes  her  ruffled  wings, 
And  the  free  soul  looks  down  to  pity  kings ! 
There  sober  thought  pursued  th'  amusing  theme, 
Till  fancy  coloured  it,  and  form'd  a  dream. 

1  A  deal  at  cards  that  draws  all  the  tricks. 
9  A,  3hadow,    A  Roman  parasite,  3  Lord  Hervey, 


504        THE  SATIRES  OF  DR.  DONNE. 

A  vision  hermits  can  to  hell  transport, 

And  forced  even  me  to  see  the  damned  at  court. 

Not  Dante,  dreaming  all  th'  infernal  state, 

Beheld  such  scenes  of  envy,  sin,  and  hate. 

Base  fear  becomes  the  guilty,  not  the  free; 

Suits  tyrants,  plunderers,  but  suits  not  me: 

Shall  I,  the  terror  of  this  sinful  town, 

Care,  if  a  liveried  lord  or  smile  or  frown? 

Who  cannot  flatter,  and  detest  who  can, 

Tremble  before  a  noble  serving-man? 

O  my  fair  mistress,  Truth !  shall  I  quit  thee 

For  huffing,  braggart,  puffed  nobility ! 

Thou,  who  since  yesterday  hast  rolled  o'er  all 

The  busy  idle  blockheads  of  the  ball, 

Hast  thou,  O  Sun !  beheld  an  emptier  sort, 

Than  such  as  swell  this  bladder  of  a  court  ? 

Now  pox  on  those  who  shew  a  court  in  wax?1 

It  ought  to  bring  all  courtiers  on  their  backs: 

Such  painted  puppets  !  such  a  varnished  race 

Of  hollow  gew-gaws,  only  dress  and  face  1 

Such  waxen  noses,  stately  staring  things — 

No  wonder  some  folks  bow,  and  think  them  kings. 

See !  where  the  British  youth,  engaged  no  more 

At  Fig's,2  at  White's,3  with  felons,  or  a  w , 

Pay  their  last  duty  to  the  court,  and  come 
All  fresh  and  fragrant  to  the  drawing-room; 
In  hues  as  gay,  and  odours  as  divine, 
As  the  fair  fields  they  sold  to  look  so  fine. 
"  That's  velvet  for  a  king !  "  the  flatt'rer  swears; 
'Tis  true,  for  ten  days  hence  'twill  be  King  Lear's. 
Our  court  may  justly  to  our  stage  give  rules, 
That  helps  it  both  to  fool's-coats  and  to  fools. 
And  why  not  players  strut  in  courtiers'  clothes  ? 
For  these  are  actors  too,  as  well  as  those : 
Wants  reach  all  states;  they  beg  but  better  drest, 
And  ah1  is  splendid  poverty  at  best. 

Painted  for  sight,  and  essenced  for  the  smell, 
Like  frigates  fraught  with  spice  and  cochinel, 
Sail  in  the  ladies:  how  each  pirate  eyes 

1  A  famous  show  of  the  court  of  France  in  wax-work.— Pops. 

2  Fig's,    a    prize-fighter's    academy,    where    the   young    nobility 
received  instruction  in   those    days;    it    was    also    customary  for 
the   nobility   and   gentry   to   visit   the    condemned    criminals   in 
Newgate. 

8  White's  was  a  noted  gaming-house. 


*  THE  SATIEES  OF  DE.  DONNE.        505 

So  weak  a  vessel,  and  so  rich  a  prize ! 
Top-gallant  he,  and  she  in  all  her  trim, 
He  boarding  her,  she  striking  sail  to  him: 
"Dear  Countess!  you  have  charms  all  hearts  to  hit ! " 
And  "  Sweet  Sir  Fopling !  you  have  so  much  wit !  " 
Such  wits  and  beauties  are  not  praised  for  nought, 
For  both  the  beauty  and  the  wit  are  bought; 
'Twould  burst  even  Heraclitus  with  the  spleen, 
To  see  those  antics,  Fopling  and  Courtin: 
The  presence  seems,  with  things  so  richly  odd, 
The  mosque  of  Mahound,  or  some  queer  pagod. 
See  them  survey  their  limbs  by  Durer's  rules,1 
Of  all  beau-kind  the  best-proportioned  fools  1 
Adjust  their  clothes,  and  to  confession  draw 
Those  venial  sins,  an  atom,  or  a  straw; 
But  oh !  what  terrors  must  distract  the  soul 
Convicted  of  that  mortal  crime,  a  hole; 
Or  should  one  pound  of  powder  less  bespread 
Those  monkey-tails  that  wag  behind  their  head. 
Thus  finished,  and  corrected  to  a  hair, 
They  march,  to  prate  their  hour  before  the  fair. 
So  first  to  preach  a  white-gloved  chaplain  goes, 
With  band  of  lily  and  with  cheek  of  rose, 
Sweeter  than  Sharon,  in  immaclate  trim, 
Neatness  itself  impertinent  in  him. 
Let  but  the  ladies  smile,  and  they  are  blest: 
Prodigious!  how  the  things  protest,  protest: 
Peace,  fools,  or  Gonson  will  for  papists  seize  you, 
If  once  he  catch  you  at  your  Jesu,  Jesu.2 

'  Nature  made  ev'ry  fop  to  plague  his  brother, 
Just  as  one  beauty  mortifies  another. 
But  here's  the  captain  that  will  plague  them  both, 
Whose  air  cries  Arm !  whose  very  look's  an  oath: 
The  captain's  honest,  sirs,  and  that's  enough, 
Though  his  soul's  bullet,  and  his  body  buff. 
He  spits  fore-right;  his  haughty  chest  before, 
Like  batt'ring  rams,  beats  open  ev'ry  door: 
And  with  a  face  as  red,  and  as  awry, 
As  Herod's  hangdogs  in  old  tapestry, 
Scarecrow  to  boys,  the  breeding  woman's  curse, 

i  Durer's  rules.— Albert  Durer,  a  celebrated  painter,  born  at 
Nuremberg,  1471,  died  1528.  He  was  also  a  fine  engraver,  said 
to  have  been  the  first  who  engraved  on  wood. 

?  A  reproof  for  their  profane  exclamation^, 


506  IMITATIONS  OF  HOE  ACE. 

Has  yet  a  strange  ambition  to  look  worse; 
Confounds  the  civil,  keeps  the  rude  in  awe, 
Jests  like  a  licensed  fool,  commands  like  law. 

Frighted,  I  quit  the  room,  but  leave  it  so 
As  men  from  gaols  to  execution  go; 
For,  hung  with  deadly  sins,1 1  see  the  wall, 
And  lined  with  giants  deadlier  than  them  al?  • 
Each  man  an  Ase&part,  of  strength  to  toss 
For  quoits,  both  Temple  Bar  and  Charing  Cross. 
Scared  at  the  grizly  forms,  I  sweat,  I  fly, 
And  shake  all  o'er,  like  a  discovered  spy. 

Courts  are  too  much  for  wits  so  weak  as  mine: 
Charge  them  with  heav'n's  artillery,  bold  divine ! 
From  such  alone  the  great  rebukes  endure, 
Whose  satire's  sacred,  and  whose  rage  secure: 
'Tis  mine  to  wash  a  few  light  stains,  but  theirs 
To  deluge  sin,  and  drown  a  court  in  tears. 
Howe'er  what's  now  Apocrypha,  my  wit, 
In  time  to  come,  may  pass  for  Holy  Writ. 


IMITATIONS    OF    HORACE. 


BOOK  I.    EPISTLE  VII. 

IMITATED   IN  THE  MANNER   OF   DR.  SWIFT. 

'Tis  true,  my  lord,  I  gave  my  word, 
I  would  be  with  you,  June  the  third; 
Changed  it  to  August,  and  (in  short) 
Have  kept  it — as  you  do  at  court. 
You  humour  me  when  I  am  sick, 
Why  not  when  I  am  splenetic  ? 
In  town,  what  objects  could  I  meet? 

i  The  room  hung  witlj  old  tapestry,  representing  the  seven  deadly 
Sins,— -Pope, 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  507 

The  shops  shut  up  in  ev'ry  street, 
And  fun'rals  black'ning  all  the  doors, 

And  yet  more  melancholy  w ; 

And  what  a  dust  in  ev'ry  place ! 
And  a  thin  court  that  wants  your  face, 
And  fevers  raging  up  and  down, 
And  W*  and  H**  both  in  town! 

"  The  dog-days  are  no  more  the  case." 
'Tis  true;  but  winter  conies  apace: 
Then  southward  let  your  bard  retire, 
Hold  out  some  months  'twixt  sun  and  fire, 
And  you  shall  see  the  first  warm  weather, 
Me  and  the  butterflies  together. 

My  lord,  your  favours  well  I  know; 
'Tis  with  distinction  you  bestow; 
And  not  to  ev'ry  one  that  comes, 
Just  as  a  Scotsman  does  his  plums. 
"Pray  take  them,  sir, — enough's  a  feast: 
Eat  some,  and  pocket  up  the  rest." — 
What  ?  rob  your  boys  ?  those  pretty  rogues ! 
"  No,  sir,  you'll  leave  them  to  the  hogs." 
Thus  fools  with  compliments  besiege  ye, 
Contriving  never  to  oblige  ye. 
Scatter  your  favors  on  a  fop, 
Ingratitude's  the  certain  crop; 
And  'tis  but  just;  I'll  tell  ye  wherefore, 
You  give  the  things  you  never  care  for. 
A  wise  man  always  is  or  should 
Be  mighty  ready  to  do  good; 
But  makes  a.  difference  in  his  thought 
Betwixt  a  guinea  and  a  groat. 

Now  this  I'll  say  you'll  find  in  me 
A  safe  companion,  and  a  free; 
But  if  you'd  have  me  always  near — 
A  word,  pray,  in  your  honour's  ear 
I  hope  it  is  your  resolution 
To  give  me  back  my  constitution! 
The  sprightly  wit,  the  lively  eye, 
Th'  engaging  smile,  the  gaiety, 
That  laughed  down  many  a  summer  sun, 
And  kept  you  up  so  oft  till  one: 
And  all  that  voluntary  vein, 
As  when  Belinda  raised  my  strain. 

A  weasel  once  made  shift  to  slink 


508  IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE. 

In  at  a  corn-loft  through  a  chink; 
But  having  amply  stuffed  his  skin, 
Could  not  get  out  as  he  got  in: 
"Which  one  belonging  to  the  house 
('Twas  not  a  man,  it  was  a  mouse) 
Observing,  cried,  "  You  'scape  not  so, 
Lean  as  you  came,  sir,  you  must  go." 

Sir,  you  may  spare  your  application, 
I'm  no  such  beast,  nor  his  relation; 
Nor  one  that  temperance  advance, 
Crammed  to  the  throat  with  ortolans: 
Extremely  ready  to  resign 
All  that  may  make  me  none  of  mine. 
South-sea  subscriptions  take  who  please, 
Leave  me  but  liberty  and  ease. 
''Twas  what  I  said  to  Craggs  and  Child,1 
"Who  praised  my  modesty,  and  smiled. 
"  Give  me,"  I  cried,  "(enough  for  me) 
My  bread,  and  independency !" 
So  bought  an  annual  rent  or  two, 
And  lived — just  as  you  see  I  do; 
Near  fifty,  and  without  a  wife, 
I  trust  that  sinking  fund,  my  life. 
Can  I  retrench  ?     Yes,  mighty  well, 
Shrink  back  to  my  paternal  cell, 
A  little  house,  with  trees  a-row 
And,  like  its  master,  very  low. 
There  died  my  father,  no  man's  debtor, 
And  there  I'll  die,  nor  worse  nor  better. 

To  set  this  matter  full  before  ye, 
Our  old  friend  Swift  will  tell  his  story. 

"Harley,  the  nation's  great  support," — 
But  you  may  read  it;  I  stop  short. 

i  Craggs  gave  him  several  shares  in  the  South-Sea  Company;  as 
did  also  Sir  Francis  Child,  the  banker.  Pope  did  not  sell  them,  and 
always  rejoiced  that  he  did  not  gain  by  the  misery  of  others. 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  509 


BOOK  II.    SATIRE  VI. 

THE  FIRST  PART  IMITATED  IN  THE  YEAR  1714. 
BY  DR.  SWIFT;   THE  LATTER  PART 

ADDED  AFTERWARDS. 

I'VE  often  wished  that  I  had  clear 
For  life,  six  hundred  pounds  a  year, 
A  handsome  house  to  lodge  a  Mend, 
A  river  at  my  garden's  end, 
A  terrace-walk,  and  half  a  rood 
Of  land,  set  out  to  plant  a  wood. 

Well,  now  I  have  all  this  and  more, 
I  ask  not  to  increase  my  store; 
But  here  a  grievance  seems  to  lie, 
All  this  is  mine  but  till  I  die; 
I  can't  but  think  'twould  sound  more  clever, 
To  me  and  to  my  heirs  for  ever. 

If  I  ne'er  got  or  lost  a  groat, 
By  any  trick,  or  any  fault; 
And  if  I  pray  by  reason's  rules, 
And  not  like  forty  other  fools: 
As  thus,  "Vouchsafe,  O  gracious  Maker! 
To  grant  me  this  and  t'other  acre: 
Or,  if  it  be  Thy  will  and  pleasure, 
Direct  my  plough  to  find  a  treasure: " 
But  only  what  my  station  fits, 
And  to  be  kept  in  my  right  wits. 
Preserve,  Almighty  Providence, 
Just  what  you  gave  me,  competence: 
And  let  me  in  these  shades  compose 
Something  in  verse  as  true  as  prose; 
[Removed  from  all  thj  ambitious  scene, 
Nor  puffed  by  pride,  nor  sunk  by  spleen. 

In  short,  I  'm  perfectly  content, 
Let  me  but  live  on  this  side  Trent; 
Nor  cross  the  Channel  twice  a  year, 
To  spend  six  months  with  statesmen  here. 

I  must  by  all  means  come  to  town, 
'Tis  for  the  service  of  the  crown. 
"  Lewis,  the  dean  will  be  of  use, 


ilO  IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE. 

Send  for  him  up,  take  no  excuse." 
The  toil,  the  danger  of  the  seas; 
Great  ministers  ne'er  think  of  these; 
Or  let  it  cost  five  hundred  pound, 
No  matter  where  the  money's  found, 
It  is  but  so  much  more  in  debt, 
And  that  they  ne'er  considered  yet. 

"  Good  Mr.  Dean,  go  change  your  gown, 
Let  my  lord  know  you're  come  to  town." 
I  hurry  me  in  haste  away, 
Not  thinking  it  is  levee-day; 
And  find  his  honour  in  a  pound, 
Hemmed  by  a  triple  circle  round, 
Chequered  with  ribbons  blue  and  green: 
How  should  I  thrust  myself  between  ? 
Some  wag  observes  me  thus  perplext, 
And,  smiling,  whispers  to  the  next, 
"I  thought  the  Dean  had  been  to  proud, 
To  jostle  here  among  a  crowd." 
Another  in  a  surly  fit, 
Tells  me  I  have  more  zeal  than  wit: 
"  So  eager  to  express  your  love, 
You  ne'er  consider  whom  you  shove, 
But  rudely  press  before  a  duke." 
I  own  I'm  pleased  with  this  rebuke, 
And  take  it  kindly  meant  to  show 
What  I  desire  the  world  should  know. 

I  get  a  whisper,  and  withdraw; 
"When  twenty  fools  I  never  saw 
Come  with  petitions  fairly  penned, 
Desiring  I  would  stand  their  friend. 

This,  humbly  offers  me  his  case — 
That,  begs  my  interest  for  a  place — 
A  hundred  other  men's  affairs, 
Like  bees,  are  humming  in  my  ears. 
"  To-morrow  my  appeal  comes  on, 
Without  your  help  the  cause  is  gone" — > 
"  The  duke  expects  my  lord  and  you, 
About  some  great  affair,  at  two" — 
"Put  my  Lord  Bolingbroke  in  mind, 
To  get  my  warrant  quickly  signed: 
Consider,  'tis  my  first  request." — 
"  Be  satisfied,  I'll  do  my  best:'5 — 
Then  presently  he  falls  to  tease, 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  511 

"You  may  for  certain,  if  you  please; 
I  doubt  not,  if  his  lordship  knew — 
And,  Mr.  Dean,  one  word  from  you." 

'Tis  (let  me  see)  three  years  and  more, 
(October  next  it  will  be  four) 
Since  Harley  "bid  me  first  attend, 
And  chose  me  for  an  humble  friend; 
Would  take  me  in  his  coach  to  chat, 
And  question  me  of  this  and  that;      [wind  ?" 
As,    "What's    o'clock?"    and,    "How's    the 
"Whose  chariot's  that  we  left  behind?" 
Or  gravely  try  to  read  the  lines 
Writ  underneath  the  country  signs; 
Or,  "  Have  you  nothing  new  to-day 
From  Pope,  from  Parnell,  or  from  Gay  ?" 
Such  tattle  often  entertains 
My  lord  and  me  as  far  as  Staines, 
As  once  a  week  we  travel  down 
To  Windsor,  and  again  to  town, 
Where  all  that  passes,  inter  nos, 
Might  be  proclaimed  at  Charing  Cross. 

Yet  some  I  know  with  envy  swell. 
Because  they  see  me  used  so  well: 
"How  think  you  of  our  friend  the  Dean  ? 
I  wonder  what  some  people  mean; 
My  lord  and  he  are  grown  so  great, 
Always  together,  tete-a-tete. 
What,  they  admire  him  for  his  jokes — 
See  but  the  fortune  of  some  folks !" 
There  flies  about  a  strange  report 
Of  some  express  arrived  at  court; 
I'm  stopped  by  all  the  fools  I  meet, 
And  catechised  in  ev'ry  street. 
"You,  Mr.  Dean,  frequent  the  great; 
Inform  us,  will  the  emp'ror  treat  ? 
Or  do  the  prints  and  papers  lie  ?" 
"Faith,  sir,  you  know  as  much  as  I." 
"Ah,  Doctor,  how  you  love  to  jest! 
'Tis  now  no  secret" — "I  protest 
'Tis  one  to  me  " — "  Then  tell  us,  pray, 

When  are  the  troops  to  have  their  pay  ?" 
And  though  I  solemnly  declare 
I  know  no  more  than  my  Lord  Mayor, 
They  stand  amazed,  and  think  me  grown 
The  closest  mortal  ever  known. 


1MITA  TIONS  OF  HORA  CE. 

Thus  in  a  sea  of  folly  tossed, 
My  choicest  hours  of  fife  are  lost; 
Yet  always  wishing  to  retreat, 
Oh,  could  I  see  my  country  seat! 
There,  leaning  near  a  gentle  brook, 
Sleep,  or  peruse  some  ancient  book, 
And  there  in  sweet  oblivion  drown 
Those  cares  that  haunt  the  court  and  town0 
O  charming  noons !  and  nights  divine  ! 
Or  when  I  sup,  or  when  I  dine, 
My  friends  above,  my  folks  below, 
Chatting  and  laughing  all  a-row, 
The  beans  and  bacon  set  before  'em, 
The  grace-cup  served  with  all  decorum: 
Each  willing  to  be  pleased,  and  please, 
And  ev'n  the  very  dogs  at  e  ase ! 
Here  no  .man  prates  of  idle  things, 
How  this  or  that  Italian  sings, 
A  neighbor's  madness,  or  his  spouse's, 
Or  what's  in  either  of  the  Houses: 
But  something  much  more  our  concern, 
And  quite  a  scandal  not  to  learn: 
Which  is  the  happier,  or  the  wiser, 
A  man  of  merit,  or  a  miser  ? 
Whether  we  ought  to  choose  our  friends, 
For  their  own  worth,  or  our  own  ends  ? 
What  good,  or  better,  wre  may  call, 
And  what,  the  very  best  of  all  ? 

Our  friend,  Dan  Prior,  told,  (you  know) 
A  tale  extremly  a  propos: 
Name  a  town  life,  and  in  a  trice, 
He  had  a  story  of  two  mice. 
Once  on  a  time  (so  runs  the  fable) 
A  country  mouse,  rigM  hospitable, 
Received  a  town  mouse  at  his  board, 
Just  as  a  farmer  might  a  lord. 
A  frugal  mouse  upon  the  whole, 
Yet  loved  his  friend,  and  had  a  soul, 
Knew  what  was  handsome,  and  would  do't, 
On  just  occasion,  coute  qui  coute. 
He  brought  him  bacon  (nothing  lean), 
Pudding,  that  might  have  pleased  a  dean; 
Cheese,  such  as  men  in  Suffolk  make, 
But  wished  it  Stilton  for  his  sake ;      * 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORA CE.  513 

Yet,  to  his  guest  though  no  way  sparing, 
He  ate  himself  the  rind  and  paring. 
Our  courtier  scarce  could  touch  a  bit, 
But  showed  his  breeding  and  his  wit; 
He  did  Lis  best  to  seem  to  eat, 
And  cried,  "  I  vow  you're  mighty  neat. 
But  lord,  my  friend,  this  savage  scene ! 
For  God's  sake,  come,  and  live  with  men: 
Consider,  mice,  like  men,  must  die, 
Both  small  and  great,  both  you  and  I: 
Then  spend  your  life  in  joy  and  sport, 
(This  doctrine,  friend,  1  learnt  at  court),1' 

The  veries  j  hermit  in  the  nation 
May  yield,  God  knows,  to  strong  temptation. 
Away  they  come,  through  thick  and  thin, 
To  a  tall  house  near  Lincoln's  Inn; 
('Twas  on  the  night  of  a  debate, 
When  all  their  lordships  had  sat  late). 

Behold  the  place,  where  if  a  poet 
Shined  in  description,  he  might  show  it; 
Tell  how  the  moonbeam  trembling  falls, 
And  tips  with  silver  all  the  walls; 
Palladian  walls,  Venetian  doors, 
Grotesco  roofs,  and  stucco  floors: 
But  let  it  (in  a  word)  be  said, 
The  moon  was  up,  and  men  a-bed, 
The  napkins  white,  the  carpet  red; 
The  guests  withdrawn  had  left  the  treat, 
And  down  the  mice  sate,  tete-a-tete. 

Our  courtier  walks  from  dish  to  dish, 
Tastes  for  his  friend  of  fowl  and  fish; 
Tells  all  their  names,  lays  down  the  law, 
"Que  ca  est  bon!  Ah  goutez  ca! 
That  jelly's  rich,  this  malmsey  healing, 
Pray,  dip  your  whiskers  and  your  tail  in.'* 
Was  ever  such  a  happy  swain  ? 
He  stuffs  and  swills,  and  stuffs  again. 
"I'm  quite  ashamed — 'tis  mighty  rude 
To  eat  so  much — but  all's  so  good. 
I  have  a  thousand  thanks  to  give — 
My  lord  alone  knows  how  to  live." 
No  sooner  said,  but  froiix  the  hall 
Hush  chaplain,  butler,  dogs  and  all: 
"A.  rat,  a  rat !  clap  to  the  doos  "— » 


514  IMITATIONS  OF  HOE  ACE. 

The  cat  conies  bouncing  on  the  floor^ 
Oh  for  the  heart  of  Homer's  mice, 
Or  gods  to  save  them  in  a  trice ! 
(It  was  by  Providence  they  think, 

For  your  d d  stucco  has  no  chink.) 

"An't  please  your  honour,"  quoth  the  peasant, 
"This  same  desert  is  not  so  pleasant: 
Give  me  again  my  hollow  tree, 
A  crust  of  bread,  and  liberty! " 


BOOK  IV.   ODE  I. 

TO   VENUS. 

AGAIN  !  new  tumults  in  my  breast  ? 

Ah  spare  me,  Venus !  let  me,  let  me  rest ! 

I  am  not  now,  alas !  the  man 

As  in  the  gentle  reign  of  my  Queen  Anne. 

Ah  sound  no  more  thy  soft  alarms, 

Nor  circle  sober  fifty  with  thy  charms. 

Mother  too  fierce  of  dear  desires ! 

Turn,  turn  to  willing  hearts  your  wanton  fires; 

To  number  five  direct  your  doves,  [loves; 

There  spread  round  MURRAY  *  all  your  blooming 

Noble  and  young,  who  strikes  the  heart 

With  every  sprightly,  every  decent  part; 

Equal,  the  injured  to  defend, 

To  charm'  the  mistress,  or  to  fix  the  friend. 

He  with  a  hundred  arts  refined, 

Shall  stretch  thy  conquests  over  half  the  kind: 

To  him  each  rival  shall  submit, 

Make  but  his  riches  equal  to  his  wit. 

Then  shall  thy  form  the  marble  grace, 

(Thy  Grecian  form,)  and  Chloe  lend  the  face: 

His  house  embosomed  in  the  grove, 

Sacred  to  social  life  and  social  love, 

Shall  glitter  o'er  the  pendant  green, 

Where  Thames  renects  the  visionary  scene: 

1  Afterwards  Lord  Mansfield.    See  previous  note,  p.  292, 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  515 

Thither,  the  silver  sounding  lyres 

Shall  call  the  smiling  Loves,  and  young  Desires; 

Where  every  Grace  and  Muse  shall  throng, 

Exalt  the  dance,  or  animate  the  song, 

There  youths  and  nymphs,  in  consort  gay, 

Shall  hail  the  rising,  close  the  parting  day, 

With  me,  alas !  those  joys  are  o'er; 

For  me,  the  vernal  garlands  bloom  no  more. 

Adieu !  fond  hope  of  mutual  fire, 

The  still-believing,  still-renewed  desire; 

Adieu !  the  heart- expanding  bowl, 

And  all  the  kind  deceivers  of  the  soul ! 

But  why?  ah  tell  me,  ah  too  dear! 

Steals  down  my  cheek,  the  involuntary  tear  ? 

Why  words  so  flowing,  thoughts  so  free, 

Stop,  or  turn  nonsense,  at  <    e  glance  of  thee  ! 

Thee,  drest  in  fancy's  airy  beam, 

Absent  I  follow  through  the  extended  dream ; 

Now,  now  I  seize,  I  clasp  thy  charms, 

And  now  you  burst  (ah  cruel!)  from  my  arms. 

And  swiftly  shoot  along  the  Mall, 

Or  softly  glide  by  the  canal; 

Now  shown  by  Cynthia's  silver  ray, 

And  now  on  rolling  waters  snatched  away. 


PART  OP  THE  NINTH  ODE  OF  THE 
FOURTH  BOOK. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

LEST  you  should  think  that  verse  shall  die, 
Which  sounds  the  silver  Thames  along, 

Taught  on  the  wings  of  truth  to  fly 
Above  the  reach  of  vulgar  song; 

Though  daring  Milton  sits  sublime, 

In  Spenser  native  muses  play; 
Nor  yet  shall  Waller  yield  to  time, 

Nor  pensive  Cowley's  moral  lay — 


516  IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE. 

Sages  and  chiefs  long  since  had  birth 
Ere  Csesar  was,  or  Newton  named; 

Those  raised  new  empires  o'er  the  earth, 

And  these,  new  heavens  and  systems  framed. 

Vain  was  the  chief's,  the  sage's  pride ! 

They  had  no  poet,  and  they  died. 
In  vain  they  schemed,  in  vain  they  bled ! 

They  had  no  poet,  and  are  dead. 


THE  FOURTH   EPISTLE   OP   THE  FIRST 
BOOK  OF  HORACE'S  EPISTLES.1 


A   MODERN   IMITATION. 

SAY,  St.  John,2  who  alone  peruse 
"With  candid  eye,  the  mimic  muse, 
What  schemes  of  politics,  or  laws, 
In  Gallic  lands  the  patriot  draws ! 
Is  then  a  greater  work  in  hand, 
Than  all  the  tomes  of  Haines's  band? 
'  Or  shoots  he  folly  as  it  flies  ? 
Or  catches  manners  as  they  rise  ? ' 3 
Or,  urged  by  unquenched  native  heat, 
Does  St.  John  Greenwich  sports  repeat  ? 4 
Where  (emulous  of  Chartres'  fame) 
E'en  Chartres'  self  is  scarce  a  name. 
To  you  (the  all-envied  gift  of  heaven) 5 

i  This  satire  on  Lord  Bolingbroke,  and  the  praise  bestowed  on  him 
In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Richardson,  where  Mr.  Pope  says, 

The  sons  shall  blush  their  fathers  were  his  foes : 

being   so   contradictory,    probably   occasioned   the    former   to   be 
suppressed. —  Note  in  Johnson's  Edition. 

2  Ad  Albium  Tibullum. 

Albi,  nostrorum  seromonum,  candide  judex, 
Quid  nunc  te  dicam  facere  in  regione  Pedana? 
Scribere,  quod  Cassi  Parmensis  opuscula  vincat- 

*  The  lines  here  quoted  occur  in  the  "  Essay  on  Man." 
*  An  taciturn  silvas  inter  reptare  salubres? 

& Di  tibi  formam 

.  Di  tibi  divitias  dederunt,  artemque  f  ruendi, 


IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE.  517 

The  indulgent  gods,  unasked,  have  given 
A  form  complete  in  every  part, 
And,  to  enjoy  that  gift,  the  art. 
What  could  a  tender  mother's  care l 
Wish  better  to  her  favourite  heir, 
Than  wit,  and  fame,  and  lucky  hours, 
A  stock  of  health,  and  golden  showers, 

And  graceful  fluency  of  speech, 
Precepts  before  unknown  to  teach  ? 
Amidst  thy  various  ebbs  of  fear,2 
And  gleaming  hope,  and  black  despair; 
Yet  let  thy  friend  this  truth  impart; 
A 'truth  I  tell  with  bleeding  heart 
(In  justice  for  your  labours  past), 
8  That  every  day  shall  be  your  last; 
That  every  hour  you  life  renew 
Is  to  your  injured  country  due. 

In  spite  of  tears,  of  mercy  spite, 
My  genius  still  must  rail,  and  write. 
Haste  to  thy  Twickenham's  safe  retreat, 
And  mingle  with  the  grumbling  great: 
There,  half  devour'd  by  spleen,  you'll  find 
The  rhyming  bubbler  of  mankind; 
There  (objects  of  our  mutual  hate) 
We'll  ridicule  both  church  and  state. 


1  Quid  voveat  dulci  nutricula  majus  alumno, 
Qui  sapere,  et  fari  possit  quoe  sentiat,  et  cui 
Gratia,  fama,  valetudo  contingat  abunde, 
non  deflciente  crumena? 

2  Inter  spem  curamque,  timores  inter  et  iras. 

3  Omnem  crede  diem  tibi  diluxisse  supremum. 
Me  pinguem  et  nitidum  bene  curata  cute  vises, 
Cum  ridere  voles  Epicuri  de  grege  porcum. 

Johnson. 


APPENDIX. 


A  LETTEE  TO  THE  PUBLISHEK, 

OCCASIONED  BY  THE  FIRST  CORRECT  EDITION  OF 
THE  DUNCIAD.1 

IT  is  with  pleasure  I  hear,  that  you  have  procured  a  correct 
copy  of  the  Dunciad,  which  the  many  surreptitious  ones  have 
rendered  so  necessary;  and  it  is  yet  with  more,  that  I  am  in- 
formed it  will  be  attended  with  a  commentary:  a  work  so  re- 
quisite, that  I  cannot  think  the  author  himself  would  have 
omitted  it,  had  he  approved  of  the  first  appearance  of  this 
poem. 

Such  notes  as  have  occured  to  me,  I  herewith  send  you: 
you  will  oblige  me  by  inserting  them  amongst  those  which 
are,  or  will  be,  transmitted  to  you  by  others;  since  not  only 
the  author's  friends,  but  even  strangers,  appear  engaged  by 
humanity,  to  take  some  care  of  an  orphan  of  so  much  genius 
and  spirit,  which  its  parent  seems  to  have  abandoned  from 
the  very  beginning,  and  suffered  to  step  into  the  world 
unguarded,  and  unattended. 

It  was  upon  reading  some  of  the  abusive  papers  lately  pub- 
lished, that  my  great  regard  to  a  person,  whose  friendship  I 
esteem  as  one  of  the  chief  honours  of  my  life,  and  a  much 
greater  respect  to  truth,  than  to  him  or  any  man  living,  en- 
gaged me  in  inquiries,  of  which  the  enclosed  notes  are  the 
fruit. 

1  perceived,  that  most  of  these  authors  had  becA  (doubtless 
very  wisely)  the  first  aggressors.  They  had  tried,  till  they 
were  weary,  what  was  to  be  got  by  railing  at  each  other:  No- 
body was  either  concerned  or  surprised,  if  this  or  that  scrib- 
bler was  proved  a  dunce.  But  every  one  was  curious  to  read 
what  could  be  said  to  prove  Mr.  Pope  one,  and  was  ready  to 
pay  something  for  such  a  discovery:  A  stratagem,  which 
would  they  fairly  own,  it  might  not  only  reconcile  them  to 
me,  but  screen  them  from  the  resentment  of  their  lawful 
superiors,  whom  they  daily  abuse,  only  (as  I  charitably  hope) 
to  get  that  by  them,  which  they  cannot  get  from  them. 

I  found  this  was  not  all :  111  success  in  that  had  transported 
them  to  personal  abuse,  either  of  himself,  or  (what  I  think 
he  could  less  forgive)  of  his  friends.  They  had  called  men 

1  This  letter  was  supposed  to  have  been  written  by  Pope  himself. 


APPENDIX,  519 

of  virtue  and  honour  bad  men,  long  before  he  had  either  lei- 
sure or  inclination  to  call  them  bad  writers;  and  some  had 
been  such  old  offenders,  that  he  had  quite  forgotten  their 
persons  as  well  as  their  slanders,  till  they  were  pleased  to  re- 
vive them. 

Now  what  had  Mr.  Pope  done  before,  to  incense  them  ?  He 
had  published  those  works  which  are  in  the  hands  of  every- 
body, in  which  not  the  least  mention  is  made  of  any  of 
them.  And  what  has  he  done  since  ?  He  has  laughed,  and 
written  the  Dunciad.  What  has  that  said  of  them  ?  A  very 
serious  truth,  which  the  public  had  said  before,  that  they 
were  dull:  and  what  it  had  no  sooner  said,  but  they  them- 
selves were  at  great  pains  to  procure  or  even  purchase  room 
in  the  prints,  to  testify  under  their  hands  to  the  truth  of  it. 

I  should  still  have  been  silent,  if  either  I  had  seen  any  in- 
clination in  my  friend  to  be  serious  with  such  accusers,  or  if 
they  had  only  meddled  with  his  writings;  since  whoever 
publishes,  puts  himself  on  his  trial  by  his  country.  But 
when  his  moral,  character  was  attacked,  and  in  a  manner 
from  which  neither  truth  nor  virtue  can  secure  the  most  in- 
nocent,— in  a  manner,  which,  though  it  annihilates  the  cred- 
it of  e  accusation  with  the  just  and  impartial,  yet  aggra- 
vates very  much  the  guilt  of  the  accusers;  I  mean  by  authors 
without  names:  then  I  thought,  since  the  danger  was  com- 
mon to  all,  the  concern  ought  to  be  so;  and  that  it  was  an 
act  of  justice  to  detect  the  authors,  not  only  on  this  account, 
but  as  many  of  them  are  the  same  who  for  several  years  past 
have  made  free  with  the  greatest  names  in  church  and  state, 
exposed  to  the  world  the  private  misfortunes  of  families, 
abused  all,  <wen  to  women,  and  whose  prostituted  papers  (for 
one  or  other  party,  in  the  unhappy  divisions  of  their  coun- 
try) have  insulted  the  fallen,  the  friendless,  the  exile,  and 
the  dead. 

Besides  this,  which  I  take  to  be  a  public  concern,  I  have 
already  confessed  I  had  a  private  one.  I  am  one  of  that 
number  who  have  long  loved  and  esteemed  Mr.  Pope;  and 
had  often  declared  it  was  not  his  capacity  or  writings  (which 
we  ever  thought  the  least  valuable  part  of  his  character), 
but  the  honest,  open,  and  beneficent  man,  that  we  most  es- 
teemed, and  loved  in  him.  Now,  if  what  these  people  say 
were  believed,  I  must  appear  to  all  my  friends  either  a  fool, 
or  a  knave;  either  imposed  on  myself,  or  imposing  on  them; 
so  that  I  am  as  much  interested  in  the  confutation  of  these 
calumnies,  as  he  is  himself. 

I  am  no  author,  and  consequently  not  to  be  suspected  either 
of  jealousy  or  resentment  against  any  of  the  men,  of  whom 
scarce  one  is  known  to  me  by  sight;  and  as  for  their  writings, 
I  have  sought  them  (on  this  one  occasion)  in  vain,  in  the 
closets  and  libraries  of  all  my  acquaintance.  I  had  still  been 
in  the  dark,  if  a  gentleman  had  not  procured  me  (I  suppose 
some  of  themselves,  for  they  are  generally  much  more  dan- 
gerous friends  than  enemies)  the  passages  I  send  you.  I  sol- 
emnly protest  I  have  added  nothing  to  tlie  malice  or  absurd* 


520  APPENDIX. 

ity  of  them ;  which  it  behoves  me  to  declare,  since  the  vouch- 
ers themselves  will  be  so  soon  and  so  irrecoverably  lost.  You 
may  in  some  measure  prevent  it,  by  preserving  at  least  then 
titles,  and  discovering  (as  far  as  you  can  depend  on  the  truth 
of  your  information)  the  names,  of  the  concealed  authors. 

The  first  objection  I  have  heard  made  to  the  poem  is,  that 
the  persons  are  too  obscure  for  satire.  The  persons  them- 
selves rather  than  allow  the  objection,  would  forgive  the 
satire;  and  if  one  could  be  tempted  to  afford  it  a  serious  an- 
swer, were  not  all  assassinates,  popular  insurrections,  the  in- 
solence of  the  rabble  without  doors,  and  of  domestics  within, 
most  wrongfully  chastised,  if  the  meanness  of  offenders  in- 
demnified them  from  punishment?  On  the  contrary,  ob- 
scurity renders  them  more  dangerous,  as  less  thought  of; 
law  can  pronounce  judgment  only  on  open  facts;  morality 
alone  can  pass  censure  on  intentions  of  mischief;  so  that  for 
secret  calumny,  or  the  arrow  flying  in  the  dark,  there  is  no 
public  punishment  left,  but  what  a  good  writer  inflicts. 

The  next  objection  is,  that  these  sort  of  authors  are  poor. 
That  might  be  pleaded  as  an  excuse  at  the  Old  Bailey,  for 
lesser  crimes  than  defamation  (for  'tis  the  case  of  almost  all 
who  are  tried  there);  but  sure  it  can  be  none:  for  who  will 
pretend  that  the  robbing  another  of  his  reputation  supplies 
the  want  of  it  in  himself?  I  question  not  but  such  authors 
are  poor,  and  heartily  wish  the  objection  were  removed  by 
any  honest  livelihood.  But  poverty  is  here  the  accident,  not 
the  subject:  He  who  describes  malice  and  villainy  to  be  pale 
and  meagre,  expresses  not  the  least  anger  against  paleness 
or  leanenss,  but  against  malice  and  villainy.  The  apothe- 
cary in  Romeo  and  Juliet  is  poor;  but  is  he  therefore  justified 
in  vending  poison  ?  Not  but  poverty  itself  becomes  a  just 
subject  of  satire,  when  it  is  the  consequence  of  vice,  prodigal- 
ity, or  neglect  of  one's  lawful  calling;  for  then  it  increases 
the  public  burdens,  fills  the  streets  and  highways  with  rob- 
bers, and  the  garrets,  with  clippers,  coiners,  and  weekly 
journalists. 

But  admitting  that  two  or  three  of  these  offend  less  in 
their  morals,  than  in  their  writings:  must  poverty  make  non- 
sense sacred?  If  so,  the  fame  of  bad  authors  would  be 
much  better  consulted  than  that  of  all  the  good  ones  in  the 
world;  and  not  one  of  an  hundred  had  ever  been  called  by 
his  right  name. 

They  mistake  the  whole  matter:  It  is  not  charity  to  en- 
courage them  in  the  way  they  follow,  but  to  get  them  out  of 
it;  for  men  are  not  bunglers  because  they  are  poor,  but  they 
are  poor  because  they  are  bunglers. 

Is  it  not  pleasant  enough  to  hear  our  authors  crying  out 
on  the  one  hand,  as  if  their  persons  and  characters  were  too 
sacred  for  satire;  and  the  public  objection  on  the  other,  that 
they  are  too  mean  even  for  ridicule  ?  But  whether  bread  or 
fame  be  their  end,  it  must  be  allowed,  our  author,  by  and  in 
this  poem,  has  mercifully  given 'them  a  little  of  both. 

There  are  two  or  three,  who  by  their  rank  and  fortune 


APPENDIX.  521 

have  no  benefit  from  the  former  objections,  supposing  them 
good,  and  these  I  was  sorry  to  see  in  such  company.  But  if, 
without  any  provocation,  two  or  three  gentlemen  will  fall 
upon  one,  in  an  affair  wherein  his  interest  and  reputation  are 
equally  embarked;  they  cannot  certainly,  after  they  have 
been  content  to  print  themselves  his  enemies,  complain  of 
being  put  into  the  number  of  them. 

Others,  I  am  told,  pretend  to  have  been  once  his  friends. 
Surely  they  are  their  enemies  who  say  so,  since  nothing 
can  be  more  odious  than  to  treat  a  friend  as  they  have  done. 
But  of  this  I  cannot  persuade  myself,  when  I  consider 
the  constant  and  eternal  aversion  of  all  bad  writers  to  a  good 
one. 

Such  as  claim  a  merit  from  being  his  admirers  I  would 
gladly  ask,  if  it  lays  him  under  a  personal  obligation  ?  At 
that  rate  he  would  be  the  most  obliged  humble  servant  in 
the  world.  I  dare  swear  for  these  in  particular,  he  never 
desired  them  to  be  his  admirers,  nor  promised  in  return  to 
be  theirs.  That  had  truly  been  a  sign  he  was  of  their  ac- 
quaintance; but  would  not  the  malicious  world  have  suspect- 
ed such  an  approbation  of  some  motive  worse  than  ignorance, 
in  the  author  of  the  Essay  on  Criticism  f  Be  it  as  it  will, 
the  reasons  of  their  admiration  and  of  his  contempt  are 
equally  subsisting;  for  his  works  and  theirs  are  the  very 
same  that  they  were. 

One,  therefore,  of  their  assertions,  I  believe  may  be  true: 
"  That  he  has  a  contempt  for  their  writings."  And  there  is 
another,  which  would  probably  be  sooner  allowed  by  himself 
than  by  any  good  judge  beside:  "  That  his  own  have  found 
too  much  success  with  the  public."  But  as  it  cannot  consist 
with  his  modesty  to  claim  this  as  a  justice,  it  lies  not  on  him, 
but  entirely  on  the  public,  to  defend  its  own  judgment. 

There  remains  what  in  my  opinion  might  seem  a  better 
plea  for  these  people,  than  any  they  have  made  use  of.  If 
obscurity  or  poverty  were  to  exempt  a  man  from  satire, 
much  more  should  folly  or  dulness,  which  are  still  more  in- 
voluntary; nay,  as  much  so  as  personal  deformity.  But  even 
this  will  not  help  them:  deformity  becomes  an  object  of  ridi- 
cule when  a  man  sets  up  for  being  handsome  ;  and  so  must 
dulness  whe  he  sets  up  for  a  wit.  They  are  not  ridiculed, 
because  ridicule  in  itself  is,  or  ought  to  be,  a  pleasure; 
but  because  it  is  just  to  undeceive  and  vindicate  the  honest 
and  unpretending  part  of  mankind  from  imposition ;  because 
particular  interest  ought  to  yield  to  general,  and  a  great 
number,  who  are  not  naturally  fools,  ougat  never  to  be  made 
so,  in  complaisance  to  a  few  who  are.  Accordingly  we  find 
that  in  all  ages,  all  vain  pretenders,  were  they  ever  so  poor 
or  ever  so  dull,  have  been  constantly  the  topics  of  the  most 
candid  satirists,  from  the  Codrus  of  Juvenal  to  the  Damon 
of  Boileau. 

Having  mentioned  Boileau,  the  greatest  poet  and  most 
judicious  critic  of  his  age  and  country,  admirable  for  his 
talents,  and  yet  perhaps  more  admirable  for  his  judgment 


522  APPENDIX. 

in  the  proper  application  of  them;  I  cannot  help  remarking 
the  resemblance  betwixt  him  and  our  author,  in  qualities, 
fame,  and  fortune;  in  the  distinction  shown  them  by  their  su- 
periors, in  the  general  esteem  of  their  equals,  and  in  their  ex- 
tended reputation  amongst  foreigners;  in  the  latter  of  which 
ours  has  met  with  the  better  fate,  as  he  has  had  for  his  trans- 
lators persons  of  the  most  eminent  rank  and  abilities  in  their 
respective  nations. l  But  the  resemblance  holds  in  nothing 
more,  than  in  their  being  equally  abused  by  the  ignorant  pre- 
tenders to  poetry  of  their  times;  of  which  not  the  least  mem- 
ory will  remain  but  in  their  own  writings,  and  in  the  notes 
made  upon  them.  What  Boileau  has  done  in  almost  all  his 
poems,  our  author  has  only  in  this:  I  dare  answer  for  him  he 
will  do  it  in  no  more;  and  on  this  principle,  of  attacking  few 
but  who  had  slandered  him,  he  could  not  have  done  it  at  all, 
had  he  been  confined  from  censuring  obscure  and  worthless 
persons,  for  scarce  any  other  were  his  enemies.  However, 
as  the  parity  is  so  remarkable,  I  hope  it  will  continue  to  the 
last;  and  if  ever  he  shall  give  us  an  edition  of  this  poem 
himself,  I  may  see  some  of  them  treated  as  gently,  on  their 
repentance  or  better  merit,  as  Perrault  and  Quinault  were  at 
last  by  Boileau. 

In  one  point  I  must  be  allowed  to  think  the  character  of 
our  English  poet  the  more  amiable.  He  has  not  been  a 
follower  of  fortune  or  success;  he  has  lived  with  the  great 
without  flattery;  been  a  friend  to  men  in  power  without  pen- 
sions; from  whom,  as  he  asked,  so  he  received  no  favour, 
but  what  was  done  him  in  his  friends.  As  his  satires  were 
the  more  just  for  being  delayed,  so  were  his  panegyrics; 
bestowed  only  on  such  persons  as  he  had  familiarly  known, 
only  for  such  virtues  as  he  had  long  observed  in  them,  and 
only  at  such  times  as  others  cease  to  praise,  if  not  begin  to 
calumniate  them, — I  mean  when  out  of  power  or  out  of  fash- 
ion.2 A  satire,  therefore,  on  writers  so  notorious  for  the 
contrary  practice,  became  no  man  so  well  as  himself;  as  none, 
it  is  plain,  was  so  little  in  their  friendships,  or  so  much  in 
that  of  those  whom  they  had  most  abused,  namely  the  great- 
est and  best  of  all  parties.  Let  me  add  a  further  reason, 

i  "Essay  on  Criticism,"  in  French  verse,  by  General  Hamilton ; 
the  same,  in  verse  also,  by  Monsieur  Roboton,  Counsellor  and  Privy 
Secretary  to  King  George  I.,  after  by  the  Abbe  Reynel,  in  verse,  with 
notes.  "  Rape  of  the  Lock,"  in  French,  by  the  Princess  of  Conti, 
Paris,  1728,  and  in  Italian  verse,  by  the  Abbe  Conti,  a  noble  Venetian ; 
and  by  the  Marquis  Rangoni,  Envoy  Extraordinary  from  Modena  to 
King  George  II.  Others  of  his  works  by  Salvini  of  Florence,  &c. 
His  essays  and  dissertations  on  Homer,  several  times  translated  in 
French.  "Essay  on  Man,"  by  the  Abbe  Reynel,  in  verse,  by 
Monsieur  Silhouet,  in  prose,  1737,  and  since  by  others  in  French, 
Italian,  and  Latin.—  Warburton. 

2  As  Mr.  Wycherley,  at  the  time  the  town  declaimed  against 
his  book  of  poems ;  Mr.  Walsh,  after  his  death;  Sir  William  Trum- 
bull,  when  he  had  resigned  the  office  of  Secretary  of  State;  Lord 
Bolingbroke  at  his  leaving  England  after  the  Queen's  death;  Lord 
Oxford,  in  his  last  decline  of  life;  Mr.  Secretary  Craggs,  at  the  end 
of  the  South  Sea  year,  and  after  his  death;  others  only  in  epitaphs, 
— Warburton, 


APPENDIX.  523 

that,  though  engaged  in  their  friendships,  he  never  espoused 
their  animosities;  and  can  almost  singly  challenge  this  hon- 
our, not  to  have  written  a  line  of  any  man,  which,  through 
guilt,  through  shame,  or  through  fear,  through  variety  of 
fortune,  or  change  of  interests,  he  was  ever  unwilling  to 
own. 

I  shall  conclude  with  remarking  what  a  pleasure  it  must 
be  to  every  reader  of  humanity,  to  see  all  along,  that  our 
author  in  his  very  laughter  is  not  indulging  his  own  ill- 
nature,  but  only  punishing  that  of  others.  As  to  his  poem, 
those  alone  are  capable  of  doing  it  justice,  who,  to  use  the 
words  of  a  great  writer,  know  how  hard  it  is  (with  regard 
both  to  his  subject  and  his  manner)  vetustis  dare  novitatem, 
obsoletis  nitorem,  obscuris  lucem,  fastiditis  gratiain. 
I  am, 

Your  most  humble  servant, 

St.  James's,  Dec,  22, 1728.  WILLIAM  CLELAND.* 


MARTINUS  SCRIBLERUS, 

HIS     PROLEGOMENA     AND     ILLUSTRATIONS    TO    THE 
DUNCIAD 

WITH  THE  HYPERCBITICS  OF  ABISTAECHUS. 

Dennis'  Remarks  on  Prince  Arthur. 

I  CANNOT  but  think  it  the  most  reasonable  thing  in  the 
world,  to  distinguish  good  writers,  by  discouraging  the  bad. 
Nor  is  it  an  ill-natured  thing,  in  relation  even  to  the  very 
persons  upon  whom  the  reflections  are  made.  It  is  true,  it 
may  deprive  them  a  little  the  sooner  of  a  short  profit  and  a 
transitory  reputation;  but  then  it  may  have  a  good  effect,  and 
oblige  them  (before  it  be  too  late)  to  decline  that  for  which 
they  are  so  very  unfit,  and  to  have  recourse  to  something  in 
which  they  may  be  more  successful. 

i  This  gentleman  was  of  Scotland,  and  bred  at  the  University 
of  Utrecht,  with  the  Earl  of  Mar.  He  served  in  Spain  under 
Earl  Rivers.  After  the  peace,  he  was  made  one  of  the  Commission- 
ers of  the  Customs  in  Scotland,  and  then  of  Taxes  in  England, 
in  which  having  shown  himself  for  twenty  years  diligent,  punctual, 
and  incorruptible,  though  without  any  other  assistance  of  fortune, 
he  was  suddenly  displaced  by  the  minister  in  the  sixty-eighth  y»\ir 
of  his  age;  and  died  two  months  after,  in  1741.  Ho  was  a  person  of 
universal  learning,  and  an  enlarged  conversation;  no  man  had 
a  warmer  heart  for  his  friend,  or  a  sincerer  attachment  for  tho  c<>u 
stitution  of  his  country.  And  yet  for  all  this,  the  public  will  not 
allow  him  to  be  the  author  of.  this  letter,—  Wwburton. 


524  APPENDIX. 

Character  of  Mr.  P.  1716. 

The  persons  whom  Boileau  has  attacked  in  his  writings 
have  been  for  the  most  part  authors,  and  most  of  those 
authors,  poets  :  and  the  censures  he  has  passed  upon  them 
have  been  confirmed  by  all  Europe. 

Qildon,  Preface  to  Ms  New  Rehearsal. 

It  is  the  common  cry  of  the  poetasters  of  the  town,  and 
their  fautors,  that  it  is  an  ill-natured  thing  to  expose  the  pre- 
tenders to  wit  and  poetry.  The  judges  and  magistrates  may 
with  full  as  good  reason  be  reproached  with  ill-nature  for 
putting  the  laws  in  execution  against  a.thief  or  impostor. — 
The  same  will  hold  in  the  republic  of  letters,  if  the  critics 
and  judges  will  let  every  ignorant  pretender  to  scribbling 
pass  on  the  world. 

Theobald,  Letter  to  Mist,  June  22,  1728. 

Attacks  may  be  levelled,  either  against  failures  in  genius, 
or  against  the  pretensions  of  writing  without  one. 

Concanen,  Dedication  to  the  Author  of  the  Dunciad. 

A  satire  upon  dulness  is  a  thing  that  has  been  used  and 
allowed  in  all  ages. 
Out  of  thy  own  mouth  will  I  judge  thee,  wicked  scribbler  ! 


TESTIMONIES  OF  AUTHORS 

CONCERNING   OUR   POET  AND   HIS  WORKS. 

M.  Scriblerm  Lectori  8. 

BEFORE  we  present  thee  with  our  exercitations  on  this 
most  delectable  poem  (drawn  from  the  many  volumes  of  our 
adversaria  on  >  modern  authors)  we  shall  here,  according  to 
the  laudable  usage  of  editors,  collect  the  various  judgments 
of  the  learned  concerning  our  poet;  various  indeed,  not  only 
of  different  authors,  but  of  the  same  author  at  different  sea- 
sons. Nor  shall  we  gather  only  the  testimonies  of  such 
eminent  wits  as  would  of  course  descend  to  posterity,  and 
consequently  be  read  without  our  collection;  but  we  shall 
likewise,  with  incredible  labour,  seek  out  for  divers  others, 
which,  but  for  this  our  diligence,  could  never  at  the  distance 
of  a  few  months  appear  to  the  eye  of  the  most  curious. 
Hereby  thou  mayest  not  only  receive  the  delectation  of 


APPENDIX,  S25 

variety,  but  also  arrive  at  a  more  certain  judgment  by  a 
grave  and  circumspect  comparison  of  the  witnesses  with 
each  other,  or  of  each  with  himself.  Hence  also  thou  wilt 
be  enabled  to  draw  reflections,  not  only  of  a  critical 
but  a  moral  nature,  by  being  let  into  many  particulars 
of  the  person  as  well  as  genius,  and  of  fortune  as  well 
as  merit  of  our  author  :  in  which  if  I  relate  some 
things  of  little  concern  peradventure  to  thee,  and  some 
of  as  little  even  to  him;  I  entreat  thee  to  consider  how 
minutely  all  true  critics  and  commentators  are  wont  to  in- 
sist upon  such,  and  how  material  they  seem  so  themselves, 
if  to  none  other.  Forgive  me,  gentle  reader,  if  (following 
learned  example)  I  ever  and  anon  become  tedious:  allow 
me  to  take  the  same  pains  to  find  whether  my  author 
were  good  or  bad,  well  or  ill-natured,  modest  or  arrogant; 
as  another,  whether  his  author  was  fair  or  brown,  short 
or  tall,  or  whether  he  wore  a  coat  or  a  cassock. 

We  propose  to  begin  with  his  life,  parentage,  and  ed- 
ucation: but  as  to  these,  even  his  contemporaries  do  ex- 
ceedingly differ.  One  saith,1  he  was  educated  at  home;  an- 
other,2 that  he  was  bred  at  St.  Omer's  by  Jesuits;  a  third,3 
not  at  St.  Omer's  but  at  Oxford  !  a  fourth,4  that  he  had  no 
university  education  at  all.  Those  who  allow  him  to  be 
bred  at  home,  differ  as  much  concerning  his  tutor:  One 
saith,5  he  was  kept  by  his  father  on  purpose;  a  second,6  that 
he  was  an  itinerant  priest;  a  third,7  that  he  was  a  parson; 
one 8  calleth  him  a  secular  clergyman  of  the  church  of 
Rome;  another,9  a  monk.  As  little  do  they  agree  about  his 
father,  whom  one  10  supposeth,  like  the  father  of  Hesiod  a 
tradesman  or  merchant;  another  n  a  husbandman;  another,12 
a  hatter,  &c.  Nor  has  an  author  been  wanting  to  give  our 
poet  such  a  father  as  Apuleius  hath  to  Plato,  Jamblichus 
to  Pythagoras,  and  divers  to  Homer,  viz.  a  demon:  fo*  thus 
Mr.  Gildon:— 13 

"Certain  it  is,  that  his  original  is  not  from  Adam,  but  the 
devil;  and  that  he  wanteth  nothing  but  horns  and  tail  to  be 
the  exact  resemblance  of  his  infernal  father."  Finding, 
therefore,  such  contrariety  of  opinions,  and  (whatever  be 
ours  of  this  sort  of  generation)  not  being  fond  to  enter  into 
controversy,  we  shall  defer  writing  the  life  of  our  poet,  till 
authors  can  determine  among  themselves  what  parents  or 

1  Giles  Jacob's  "  Lives  of  the  Poets,"  vol.  ii.  in  bis  Life. 

2  Dennis's  "  Reflections  on  the  Essay  on  Crit." 

s  "  Dunciad  Dissected,"  p.  4.  4  "  Guardian/'  No.  40. 

5  Jacob's  "Lives,"  &c.,  vol.  ii.  6  "Dunciad  Dissected,"  p.  4." 

7  Farmer  P.  and  his  son.  8  "  Dunciad  Dissected. 

9  "  Characters  of  the  Times,"  p.  45.     10  "  Female  Dunciad,"  p.  ult. 

11  "Dunciad  Dissected." 

12  Roome,  "  Paraphrase  on  the  fourth  of  Genesis,"  printed  1729. 

13  "  Character  of  Mr.  P.  and  his  Writings,  in  a  Letter  to  a  Friend," 
printed  for  S.  Popping,  1716,  p.  10.    Curll,  in  his  "  Key  to  the  Dun- 
ciad  "  (first  edition,  said  to  be  printed  for  A.  Dodd),  in  the  10th  page, 
declared  Gildon  to  be  the  author  of  that  libel ;  though  in  the  subse- 
quent editions  of  his  "Key"  he  left  out  this  assertion,  and  affirmed 
(in  the  "  Curliad,"  p.  4  and  8)  that  it  was  written  by  Dennis  only. 


526  APPENDIX. 

education  he  had,  or    whether   he  had  any   education   or 
parents  at  all. 

Proceed  we  to  what  is  more  certain,  his  Works,  though 
not  less  uncertain  the  judgments  concerning  them;  begin- 
ning with  his  Essay  on  Criticism,  of  which  hear  first  the 
most  ancient  of  critics, 

Mr.  John  Dennis. 

"His  precepts  are  false  or  trivial,  or  both;  his  thoughts 
are  crude  and  abortive,  his  expressions  absurd,  his  numbers 
harsh  and  unmusical,  his  ryhmes  trivial  and  common; — in 
stead  of  majesty,  we  have  something  that  is  very  mean; 
and  instead  of  gravity,  something  that  is  very  boyish; 
instead  of  perspicuity  and  lucid  order,  we  have  but  too 
often  obscurity  and  confusion."  And  in  another  place— 
"  What  rare  numbers  are  here  !  Would  not  one  swear  that 
this  youngster  had  espoused  some  antiquated  muse,  who  had 
sued  out  a  divorce  from  some  superannuated  sinner,  upon 
account  of  impotence,  and  who,  being  poxed  by  the  former 
spouse,  has  got  the  gout  in  her  decrepid  age,  which  makes 
her  hobble  so  damnably. "  * 

No  less  peremptory  is  the  censure  of  our  hypercritical  his- 
torian 

Mr.  Oldmixon. 

"  I  dare  not  say  any  thing  on  the  Essay  of  Criticism  in 
verse;  but  if  any  more  curious  reader  has  discovered  in  it 
something  new  which  is  not  in  Dry  den's  prefaces,  dedica- 
tions, and  his  essay  on  dramatic  poetry,  not  to  mention  the 
French  critics,  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have  the  benefit  of 
the  discovery. " 2 

He  is  followed  (as  in  fame,  so  in  judgment)  by  the 
modost  and  simple-minded. 

Mr.  Leonard  Welsted; 

Who,  out  of  great  respect  to  our  poet,  not  naming  him, 
doth  yet  glance  at  Ijis  Essay,  together  with  the  duke  of 
Buckingham's,  and  the  criticisms  of  Dryden  and  of  Horace, 
which  lie  more  openly  taxeth:  "As  to  the  numerous  trea- 
tises, essays,  arts,  &c.,  both  in  verse  and  prose,  that  have 
been  written  by  moderns  on  this  ground- work,  they  do  but 
hackney  the  same  thoughts  over  again,  making  them  still 
more  trite.  Most  of  their  pieces  are  nothing  but  a  pert, 
insipid  heap  of  common-place.  Horace  has,  even  in  his 
Art  of  Poetry,  thrown  out  several  things  which "  plainly 
shew  he  thought  an  art  of  poetry  was  of  no  use,  even 
while  he  was  writing  one.'* 

To  all  which  great  authorities,  we  can  only  oppose  that  of 

1  Reflections  critical  and  satirical  on  Rhapsody,  called  "  An  Essay 
on  Criticism,"  printed  for  Bernard  Lintot,  8  vo. 

2  "  Essay  on  Criticism  in  prose,"  octavo,  1728,  by  the  author  of  the 
"  Critical  History  of  England." 


APPENDIX.  527 

Mr.  Addison. 

"The  Essay  on  Criticism,"  saith  he,  "which  was  pub- 
lished some  months  since,  is  a  master-piece  in  its  kind. 
The  observations  follow  one  another  like  those  in  Horace's 
Art  of  Poetry,  without  that  methodical  regularity  which 
would  have  been  requisite  in  a  prose  writer.  They  are, 
some  of  them,  uncommon,  but  such  as  the  reader  must 
assent  to,  when  he  sees  them  explained  with  that  ease  and 
perspicuity  in  which  they  are  delivered.  As  for  those  which 
are  the  most  known  and  the  most  received,  they  are  placed 
in  so  beautiful  a  light,  and  illustrated  with  such  apt  al- 
lusions, that  they  havo  in  them  all  the  graces  of  novelty; 
and  make  the  reader,  v/ho  was  before  acquainted  with  them, 
still  more  convinced  of  their  truth  and  solidity.  And  here 
give  me  leave  to  mention  what  Monsieur  Boileau  has  so  well 
enlarged  upon  in  the  preface  to  his  works:  that  wit  and  fine 
writing  doth  not  consist  so  much  in  advancing  things  that  are 
new,  as  in  giving  things  that  are  known  an  agreeable  turn. 
It  is  impossible  for  us,  who  live  in  the  latter  ages  of  the 
world,  to  make  observations  in  criticism,  morality,  or  any 
art  or  science,  which  have  not  been  touched  upon  by  others; 
we  have  little  else  left  us,  but  to  represent  the  common 
sense  of  mankind  in  more  strong^  more  beautiful,  or  more 
uncommon  lights.  If  a  reader  examines  Horace's  Art  of 
Poetry,  he  will  find  but  few  precepts  in  it  which  he  may 
not  meet  with  in  Aristotle,  and  which  were  not  commonly 
known  by  all  the  poets  of  the  Augustan  age.  His  way  of  ex- 
pressing, and  applying  them,  not  his  invention  of  them,  is 
what  we  are  chiefly  to  admire. 

"  Longinus,  in  his  Reflections,  has  given  us  the  same  kind 
of  sublime,  which  he  observes  in  the  several  passages  that 
ocasioned  them:  I  cannot  but  take  notice  that  our  English 
author  has,  after  the  same  manner,  exemplified  several 
of  the  precepts  in  the  very  precepts  themselves. " l  He  then 
produces  some  instances  of  a  particular  beauty  in  the  num- 
bers, and  concludes  with  saying,  that  "there  are  three 
poems  in  our  tongue  of  the  same  nature,  and  each  a  master- 
piece in  its  kind  !  the  Essay  on  Translated  Verse;  the  Essay 
on  the  Art  of  Poetry;  and  the  Essay  on  Criticism. " 

Of  Windsor  Forest,  positive  is  the  judgment  of  the 
affirmative 

Mr.  John  Dennis, 

That  it  is  a  wretched  rhapsody,  impudently  writ  in  emula- 
tion of  the  Cooper's  Hill  of  Sir  John  Denham:  the  author  of 
it  is  obscure,  is  ambiguous,  is  affected,  is  temerarious,  is 
barbarous  ! 2 

But  the  author  of  the  Dispensary,3 

i  "  Spectator,"  No.  253. 

2  Letter  to  B.  B.  at  the  end  of  the  Remarks,  on  Pope's  "  Homer," 
1717. 

3  Printed  1728,  p.  12. 


528  APPENDIX. 


Dr.  Qartli, 

in  the  preface  to  his  poem  of  Claremont,  differs  from  this 
opinion :  ' '  Those  who  have  seen  these  two  excellent  poem  s 
of  Cooper's  Hill  and  Windsor  Forest,  the  one  written  by 
Sir  John  Denham,  the  other  by  Mr.  Pope,  will  shew  a  great 
deal  of  candour  if  they  approve  of  this." 

Of  the  Epistle  of  Eloisa,  we  are  told  by  the  obscure  wri- 
ter of  a  poem  called  Sawney,  ' '  That  because  Prior's  Henry 
and  Emma  charmed  the  finest  tastes,  our  author  writ  his 
Eloi'sa  in  opposition  to  it;  but  forgot  innocence  and  virtue; 
if  you  take  away  her  tender  thoughts,  and  her  fierce  desires, 
all  the  rest  is  of  no  value."  In  which,  methinks,  his  judg- 
ment resembleth  that  of  a  French  tailor  on  a  villa  and  gar- 
den by  the  Thames:  "All  this  is  very  fine;  but  take  away 
the  river,  and  it  is  good  for  nothing." 

But  very  contrary  hereunto  was  the  opinion  of 

Mr.  Prior 
himself,  saying  in  his  Alma  : * 

"  O  Abelard !  ill-fated  youth, 
Thy  tale  will  justify  this  truth: 
But  well  I  weet,  thy  cruel  wrong 
Adorns  a  nobler  poet's  song : 
Dan  Pope,  for  thy  misfortune  grieved, 
With  kind  concern  and  skill  has  weaved 
A  silken  web;  and  ne'er  shall  fade 
Its  colours ;  gently  has  he  laid 
The  mantle  o'er  thy  sad  distress, 
And  Venus  shall  the  texture  bless,"  &c. 

Come  we  now  to  his  translation  of  the  Iliad,  celebrated  by 
numerous  pens,  yet  shall  it  suffice  to  mention  the  indefati- 
gable 

Sir  Richard  Blackmore,  Knt. 

who  (though  otherwise  a  severe  censurer  of  our  author)  y^t 
styleth  this  a  laudable  translation."  2  That  ready  writer, 

Mr.  Oldmixon, 

in  his  forementioned  Essay,  frequently  commends  the  same. 
And  the  painful 

Mr.  •  Lewis  Theobald 

thus  extols  it,3  "  The  spirit  of  Homer  breathes  all  through 
this  translation. — I  am  in  doubt,  whether  I  should  most  ad- 
mire the  justness  to  the  original,  or  the  force  and  beauty  of 
the  language,  or  the  sounding  variety  of  the  numbers:  but 
when  I  find  all  these  meet,  it  puts  me  in  mind  of  what  the 
poet  says  of  one  of  his  heroes,  "  That  he  alone  raised  and 
flung  with  ease  a  weighty  stone,  that  two  common  men 
could  not  lift  from  the  ground  ;  just  so,  one  single  person 

i  "Alma,"  Cant.  2.     2  In  his  "Essays,"  vol.  i.,  printed  for  E.  CurU 
3  "Censor,,"  vol  ii.  n.  33. 


APPENDIX.  529 

lias  performed  in  this  translation,  what  I  once  despaired  to 
have  seen  done  by  the  force  of  several  masterly  hands." 
Indeed  the  same  gentleman  appears  to  have  changed  his 
sentiment  in  his  Essay  on  the  Art  of  Sinking  in  Reputation, 
(printed  in  Mist's  Journal,  March  30,  1728),  where  he  says 
thus:  "In  order  to  sink  in  reputation,  let  him  take  it  into 
his  head  to  descend  into  Homer  (let  the  world  wonder,  as  it 
will,  how  the  devil  he  got  there),  and  pretend  to  do  him  in- 
to English,  so  his  version  denote  his  neglect  aof  the  manner 
how."  Strange  variation  !  we  are  told  in 

Mist's  Journal  (June  8). 

"That  this  translation  of  the  Iliad  was  not  in  all  respects 
conformable  to  the  fine  taste  of  his  friend  Mr.  Addison;  in- 
somuch that  he  employed  a  younger  muse  in  an  undertak- 
ing of  this  kind,  which  he  supervised  himself."  Whether 
Mr.  Addison  did  find  it  conformable  to  his  taste,  or  not, 
best  appears  from  his  own  testimony  the  year  following  its 
publication,  in  these  words: 

Mr.  Addison's  Freeholder,  No.  40. 

"  When  I  consider  myself  as  a  British  freeholder,  I  am  in 
a  particular  manner  pleased  with  the  labours  of  those  who 
have  improved  our  language  with  the  translations  of  old 
Greek  and  Latin  authors. — We  have  already  most  of  their 
historians  in  our  own  tongue,  and  what  is  more  for  the  hon- 
our of  our  language,  it  has  been  taught  to  express  with  ele- 
gance the  greatest  of  their  poets  in  each  nation.  The  illiter- 
ate among  our  own  countrymen  may  learn  to  judge  from 
Dryden's  Virgil,  of  the  most  perfect  epic  performance. 
And  those  parts  of  Homer  which  have  been  published  al- 
ready by  Mr.  Pope,  give  us  reasoH  to  think  that  the  Iliad 
will  appear  in  English  with  as  little  disadvantage  to  that 
immortal  poem." 

As  to  the  rest,  there  is  a  slight  mistake,  for  this  younger 
muse  was  an  elder;  nor  was  the  gentleman  (who  is  a  friend 
of  our  author)  employed  by  Mr.  Addison  to  translate  it  after 
him  since  he  saith  himself  that  he  did  it  before.1  Contrari- 
wise, that  Mr.  Addison  engaged  our  author  in  this  work 
appeareth  by  declaration  thereof  in  the  preface  to  the  Iliad, 
printed  some  time  before  his  death,  and  by  his  own  letters 
of  October  26  and  November  2,  1713,  where  he  de- 
clares it  is  his  opinion  that  no  other  person  was  equal  to  it. 

Next  comes  his  Shakspeare  on  the  stage:  "Let  him 
(quoth  one,  whom  I  take  to  be 

Mr.   Theobald,  Mist's  Journal,  June  8,  1728) 

publish  such  an  author  as  he  has  at  least  studied,  and  for- 
get to  discharge  even  the  dull  duty  of  an  editor.  In  this 

i  Vide  Preface  to  Mr.  Tickell's  translation  of  the  first  book  of  thq 
»•  Iliad/'  4to. 


530  APPENDIX. 

project  let  him  lend  tlie  bookseller  his  name  (for  a  Compe- 
tent sum  of  money)  to  promote  the  credit  of  an  exhorbitant 
subscription."  Gentle  reader  be  pleased  to  cast  thine  eye 
on  the  proposal  below  quoted,  and  on  what  follows  (some 
months  after  tjie  former  assertion)  in  the  same  Journalist  of 
June  8:  "The  bookseller  proposed  the  book  by  subscrip- 
tion, and  raised  some  thousands  of  pounds  for  the  same: 
I  believe  the  gentleman  did  not  share  in  the  profits  of  this 
extravagant  subscription." 

"After  the  Iliad  he  undertook  (saith 

Mist's  Journal  June  8,  1728) 

the  sequel  of  that  work,  the  Odyssey;  and  having  secured 
the  success  by  a  numerous  subscription,  he  employed  some 
underlings  to  perform  what,  according  to  his  proposals, 
should  come  from  his  own  hands."  To  which  heavy  charge 
we  can  in  truth  oppose  nothing  but  the  words  of 

Mr.  Pope's  Proposal  for  the  Odyssey  (printed  by  J.  Watts, 
Jan.  10,  1724). 

"  I  take  this  occasion  to  declare  that  the  subscription  for 
.Shakespeare  belongs  wTholly  to  Mr.  Tonson:  and  that  the 
benefit  of  this  proposal  is  not  solely  for  my  own  use,  but  for 
that  of  two  of  my  friends,  who  have  assisted  me  in  this 
work."  Bnt  these  very  gentlemen  are  extolled  above  our 
poet  himself  in  another  of  Mist's  Journals,  March  30,  1728, 
saying,  "  That  he  would  not  advise  Mr.  Pope  to  try  the  ex- 
periment again  of  getting  a  great  part  of  a  book  done  by 
assistants,  lest  those  extraneous,  parts  should  unhappily  as- 
cend to  the  sublime,  and  retard  the  declension  of  the  whole. 
Behold  !  these  underlings  are  become  good  writers  1 " 

If  any  say,  that  before  the  said  Proposals  were  printed, 
the  subscription  was  begun  without  declaration  of  such  as- 
sistance :  verily  those  who  set  it  on  foot  or  (as  the  term  is) 
secured  it,  to  wit,  the  right  honourable  the  lord  viscount 
Harcourt,  were  he  living,  would  testifiy,  and  the  right  hon- 
ourable the  lord  Bathurst,  now  living  doth  testifiy,  the 
same  is  a  falsehood. 

Sorry  I  am,  that  persons  professing  to  be  learned,  or  of 
whatever  rank  of  authors,  should  either  falsely  tax,  or  be 
falsely  taxed.  Yet  let  us,  who  are  only  reporters,  be  impar- 
tial in  our  citations,  and  proceed. 

Mist's  Journal  June  8,  1728). 

"  Mr.  Addison  raised  this  author  from  obscurity,  obtained 
him  the  acquaintance  and  friendship  of  the  whole  body  of 
our  nobility,  and  transferred  his  powerful  interests  with 
those  great  men  to  this  rising  bard,  who  frequently  levied 
by  that  means  unusual  contributions  on  the  public."  Which 
surely  cannot  be,  if,  as  the  author  of  the  Dunciad  Dissected 
reporteth,  Mr.  Wycherly  had  before  "introduced  liim  into 


APPENDIX.  531 

a  familiar  acquaintance  with  tlie  greatest  peers  and  bright- 
est wits  then  living. " 

"No  sooner  (saith  the  same  journalist^)  was  his  body  life- 
less, but  this  author,  reviving  his  resentment,  libelled  the 
memory  of  his  departed  friend;  and  what  was  still  more 
heinous,  made  the  scandal  public."  Grievous  the  accusation! 
unknown  the  accuser !  the  person  accused,  no  witness  in  his 
own  cause ;  the  person,  in  whose  regard  accused,  dead !  But 
if  there  be  living  any  one  nobleman  whose  friendship,  yea 
any  one  gentleman  whose  subscription  Mr.  Addison  procured 
to  our  author,  let  him  stand  forth,  that  truth  may  appear! 
Amicus  Plato,  amicus  Socrates,  sed  magis  arnica  veritas.  In 
verity,  the  whole  story  of  the  libel  is  a  lie ;  witness  those  per- 
sons of  integrity,  who  several  years  before  Mr.  Addison's 
decease,  did  see  and  approve  of  the  said  verses,  in  no  wise  a 
libel,  but  a  friendly  rebuke  sent  privately  in  our  author's  own 
hand  to  Mr.  Addison  himself,  and  never  made  public,  till  af- 
ter their  own  Journals,  and  Curll  had  printed  the  same.  One 
name  alone,  which  I  am  here  authorized  to  declare,  will  suffi- 
ciently evince  this  truth,  that  of  the  right  honourable  the  earl 
of  Burlington. 

Next  is  he  taxed  with  a  crime  (in  the  opinion  of  some  au- 
thors, I  doubt,  more  heinous  than  any  in  morality),  to  wit, 
plagiarism,  from  the  inventive  and  quaint-conceited 

James  Moore  Smith,   Gent. 

"Upon  reading  the  third  volume  of  Pope's  Miscellanies,  I 
found  five  lines  which  I  thought  excellent ;  and  happening  to 
praise  them,  a  gentleman  produced  a  modern  comedy  (the 
Rival  Modes)  published  last  year,  where  were  the  same  ver- 
ses to  a  tittle. 

"  These  gentlemen  are  undoubtedly  the  first  plagiaries,  that 
pretend  to  make  a  reputation  by  stealing  from  a  man's  works 
in  his  own  life-time,  and  out  of  a  public  print."1  Let  us  join 
to  this  what  is  written  by  the  author  of  the  Rival  Modes,  the 
said  Mr.  James  Moore  Smith,  in  a  letter  to  our  author  himself, 
who  had  informed  him  a  month  before  that  play  was  acted, 
Jan.  27,  1726-7,  that,  "  These  verses,  which  he  had  before 
given  him  leave  to  insert  in  it,  would  be  known  for  his,  some 
copies  being  got  abroad.  He  desires,  nevertheless,  that 
since  the  lines  had  been  read  in  his  comedy  to  several,  Mr.  P. 
would  not  deprive  it  of  them."  &c.  Surely,  if  WG  add  the 
testimonies  of  the  lord  Bolingbroke,  of  the  lady  to  whom  the 
said  verses  were  originally  addressed,  of  Hugh  Bethel,  Esq. 
and  others,  who  knew  them  as  our  author's  long  before  the 
said  gentleman  composed  his  play ;  it  is  hoped,  the  ingenious, 
that  affect  not  error,  will  rectify  their  opinion  by  the  suffrage 
of  so  honourable  personages. 

And  yet  followeth  another  charge,  insinuating  no  less  than 
his  enmity  both  to  church  and  state,  which  could  come  from 
no  other  informer  than  the  said 

*  "  Daily  Journal,"  March  18, 1728.     , 


532  APPENDIX. 

Mr.  James  Moore  Smith* 

il  The  Memoirs  of  a  Parish  Clerk  was  a  very  dull  and  unjust 
abuse  of  a  person  who  wrote  in  defence  of  our  religion  and 
constitution,  and  who  has  been  dead  many  years."1  This 
seerneth  also  most  untrue;  it  being  known  to  divers  that 
these  memoirs  were  written  at  the  seat  of  the  lord  Harcourt, 
in  Oxfordshire,  before  that  excellent  person  (bishop  Burnet's) 
death,  and  many  years  before  the  appearance  of  that  history, 
of  which  they  are  pretended  to  be  an  abuse.  Most  true  it  is, 
that  Mr.  Moore  had  such  a  design,  and  was  himself  the  man 
who  pressed  Dr.  Arbuthnot  and  Mr.  Pope  to  assist  him  therein ; 
and  that  he  borrowed  these  memoirs  of  our  author,  when  that 
history  came  forth,  with  intent  to  turn  them  to  such  abuse. 
But  being  able  to  obtain  from  our  author  but  one  single  hint, 
and  either  changing  his  mind,  or  having  more  mind  than  abil- 
ity, he  contented  himself  to  keep  the  said  memoirs,  and  read 
them  as  his  own  to  all  his  acquaintance.  A  noble  person 
there  is,  into  whose  company  Mr.  Pope  once  chanced  to  in- 
troduce him,  who  well  remembereth  the  conversation  of  Mr. 
Moore  to  have  turned  upon  the  "contempt  he  had  for  the 
work  of  that  reverend  prelate,  and  how  full  he  was  of  a  de- 
sign he  declared  himself  to  have,  of  exposing  it."  This  noble 
person  is  the  earl  of  Peterborough. 

Here  in  truth  should  we  crave  pardon  of  all  the  foresaid 
right  honourable  and  worthy  personages,  for  having  men- 
tioned them  in  the  same  page  with  such  weekly  riff-raff  rail- 
ers  and  rhymers ;  but  that  we  had  their  ever-honoured  com- 
mands for  the  same ;  and  that  they  are  introduced  not  as  wit- 
nesses in  the  controversy,  but  as  witnesses  that  cannot  be  con- 
troverted ;  not  to  dispute,  but  to  decide. 

Certain  it  is,  that  dividing  our  writers  into  two  classes,  of 
such  who  were  acquaintances,  and  of  such  who  were  strangers 
to  our  author ;  the  former  are  those  who  speak  well,  and  the 
other  those  who  speak  evil  of  him.  Of  the  first  class,  the 
most  noble 

John  Duke  of  Buckingham 

gums  up  his  character  in  these  lines : 

'  And  yet  so  wondrous,  so  sublime  a  thing, 
As  the  great  Iliad,  scarce  could  make  me  sing, 
Unless  I  justly  could  at  once  commend 
A  good  companion,  and  as  firm  a  friend ; 
One  moral,  or  a  mere  well-natured  deed, 
Can  all  desert  in  sciences  exceed.' a 

So  also  is  he  decipherd  by 

The  Han.  Simon  Harcourt. 

'Say,  wondrous  youth,  what  column  wilt  thou  choose, 
What  laurell'd  arch,  for  thy  triumphant  muse? 
Though  each  great  ancient  court  the©  to  his  shrine, 
Though  every  laurel  through  the  dome  be  thine, 
Go  to  the  good  and  just,  an  awful  train!' 
Thy  soul's  delight — 


i  "  Daily  Journal,"  April  3,  1728. 

a  Verses  to  Mr.  P.  on  his  translation  of  "  Homer." 


APPENDIX.  533 

Recorded  in  like  manner  for  his  virtuous  disposition,  and 
gentle  bearing,  by  the  ingenious 

Mr.   Walter  Hart, 
in  this  apostrophe: 

'  Oh !  ever  worthy,  ever  crown'd  with  praise! 
.Bless'd  in  thy  life,  and  bless'd  in  all  thy  lays, 
Add,  that  the  Sisters  every  thought  refine, 
And  e'en  thy  life  be  faultless  as  thy  line, 
Yet  envy  still  with  fiercer  rage  pursues, 
Obscures  the  virtue,  and  defames  the  muse. 
A  soul  like  thine,  In  pain,  in  grief,  resign'd, 
Views  with  just  scorn  the  malice  of  mankind.'  1 

The  wittv  and  moral  satirist, 

Dr.  Edward  Young, 

wishing  some  check  to  the  corruption  and  evil  manners  of 
the  times,  calleth  out  upon  our  poet  to  undertake  a  task  so 
tvorthy  of  his  virtue  : 

« Why  slumbers  Pope,  who  leads  the  Muses'  train, 
Nor  hears  that  virtue,  which  he  loves,  complain?  *  a 

Mr.  Mallet, 
Vfct  his  Epistle  on  Verbal  Criticism: 

'Whose  life,  severely  scann'd,  transcends  his  lays; 
For  wit  supreme,  is  but  his  second  praise.' 

Mr.  Hammond, 

that  delicate  and  correct  imitator  of  Tibullus,  in  his  Love 
Elegies,  Elegy  xiv 

'  Now,  fired  by  Pope  and  virtue,  leave  the  age, 

In  low  pursuit  of  self-undoing  wrong, 
And  trace  the  author  through  his  moral  page, 
Whose  blameless  life  still  answers  to  his  song.' 

Mr.  Thomson, 
in  his  elegant  and  philosophical  poem  of  the  Seasons: 

*  Although  not  sweeter  his  own  Homer  sings, 

Yet  is  his  life  the  more  endearing  song.' 

To  the    same    tune  also   singeth  that  learned  clerk,  of 
Suffolk, 

Mr.   Willliam  Broome: 

•  Thus,  nobly  rising  in  fair  virtue's  cause, 
From  thy  own  life  transcribe  the  unerring  laws.'3 

And.  to  close  all,  hear  the  reverend  dean  of  St.  Patrick's: 

'A  soul  with  every  virtue  fraught, 
By  patriots,  priests,  and  poets  taught : 


1  In  his  poems,  printed  for  B.  Lintot.  2  "  Universal  Passions," 

sat.  i. 
3  In  his  poems  at  tho  end  of  the  "Odyssey." 


534:  APPENDIX. 

Whose  filial  piety  excels 
Whatever  Grecian  story  tells. 
A  genius  for  each  business  fit ; 
Whose  meanest  talent  is  his  wit,'  &c. 

Let  us  now  recreate  thee  by  turning  to  the  other  side,  and 
shewing  his  character  drawn  by  those  with  whom  he  never 
conversed,  and  whose  countenances  he  could  not  know, 
though  turned  against  him  :  First  again  commencing  with 
the  high-voiced  and  never-enough  quoted 

Mr.  John  Dennis, 

who,  in  his  Reflections  on  the  Essay  on  Criticism,  thus  de- 
scribethhim:  "A  little  affected  hypocrite,  who  has  nothing 
in  his  mouth  but  candour,  truth,  friendship,  good-nature, 
humanity,  and  magnanimity.  He  is  so  great  a  lover  of  false- 
hood, that  whenever  he  has  a  mind  to  calumniate  his  con- 
temporaries,  he  brands  them  with  some  defect  which  was 
just  contrary  to  some  good  quality  for  which  all  their 
friends  and  acquaintance  commend  them.  He  seems  to  have 
a  particular  pique  to  people  of  quality,  and  authors  of  that 
rank. — He  must  derive  his  religion  from  St.  Omer's. — But  in 
the  character  of  Mr.  P.  and  his  writings  (printed  by  S.  Pop- 
ping, 1716)  he  saith,  "  Though  he  is  a  professor  of  the  worst 
religion,  yet  lie  laughs  at  it;  "  but  that,  "  nevertheless,  he  is 
a  virulent  papist;  and  yet  a  pillar  of  the  church  of  Eng- 
land. " 

Of  both  which  opinions 

Mr.  Lewis  Theobald 

seems  also  to  be;  declaring  in  Mist's  Journal  of  June  22, 
1718,  "  That  if  he  is  not  shrewdly  abused,  he  made  it  his 
practice  to  cackle  to  both  parties  in  their  own  sentiments." 
But  as  to  his  pique  against  people  of  quality,  the  same  , 
Journalist  doth  not  agree,  but  saith  (May  8, 1728),  "  He  had 
by  some  means  or  other,  the  acquaintance  and  friendship  of 
the  whole  body  of  our  nobility." 

However  contradictory  this  may  appear,  Mr  Dennis  and 
Gildon,  in  the  character  last  cited,  make  it  all  plain,  by 
assuring  us,  "  That  he  is  a  creature  that  reconciles  all  con- 
tradictions :  he  is  a  beast,  and  a  man;  a  Whig  and  a  Tory; 
a  writer  (at  one  and  the  same  time)  of  Guardians  and  Exam- 
iners; l  an  assertor  of  liberty,  and  of  the  dispensing  power 
of  kings;  a  Jesuitical  professor  of  truth;  a  base  and  foul 
pretender  to  candour."  So  that,  upon  the  whole  account, 
we  must  conclude  him  either  to  have  been  a  great  hypocrite, 
or  a  very  honest  man;  a  terrible  imposter  on  both  parties, 
or  very  moderate  to  either. 

Be  it  as  to  the  judicious  reader  shall  seem  good.  Sure  it 
is,  he  is  little  favoured  of  certain  authors,  whose  wrath  is 
perilous:  For  one  declares  he  ought  to  have  a  price  set  09 

i  The  names  of  two  weekly  papers. 


APPENDIX.  535 

his  head,  and  to  be  hunted  down  as  a  wild  beast.1  An- 
other protests  he  does  not  know  what  may  happen ;  advises 
him  to  ensure  his  person;  says  he  has  bitter  enemies,  and 
expressly  declares  it  will  be  well  if  he  escapes  with  his  life.2 
One  desires  he  would  cut  his  own  throat  or,  hang  himself.3 
But  Pasquin  seemed  rather  inclined  it  should  be  done  by  the 
government,  representing  him  engaged  in  grievous  designs 
with  a  lord  of  parliament  then  under  prosecution.4  Mr. 
Dennis  himself  hath  written  to  a  minister,  that  he  is  one  of 
the  most  dangerous  persons  in  this  kingdom;5  and  assureth 
the  public,  that  he  is  an  open  and  mortal  enemy  to  his  coun- 
try; a  monster  that  will  one  day,  shew  as  daring  a  soul  as  a 
mad  Indian,  who  runs  a  muck  to  kill  the  first  Christian  he 
meets.6  Another  gives  information  of  treason  discovered  in 
his  poem.7  Mr.  Curll  boldly  supplies  an  imperfect  verse 
with  kings  and  princesses:  and  one  Matthew  Concanen,  yet 
more  impudent,  publishes  at  length  the  two  most  sacred 
names  in  this  nation,  as  members  of  the  Dunciad  ! 8 

This  is  prodigious  !  yet  it  is  almost  as  strange,  that  in  the 
midst  of  these  invectives  his  greatest  enemies  have  (I  know 
not  how)  borne  testimony  to  some  merit  in  him. 

Mr.   Theobald, 

in  censuring  his  Shakespeare,  declares,  "He  has  so  great  an 
esteem  for  Mr.  Pope,  and  so  high  an  opinion  of  his  genius  and 
excellencies ;  that,  npt withstanding  he  professes  a  veneration 
almost  rising  to  idolatry  for  the  writings  of  this  inestimable 
poet,  he  would  be  very  loath  even  to  do  him  justice  at  the 
expense  of  that  other  gentleman's  character." 9 

Mr.  Charles  Gildon, 

after  having  violently  attacked  him  in  many  pieces,  at  last 
came  to  wish  from  his  heart,  ' '  That  Mr.  Pope  would  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  give  us  Ovid's  Epistles  by  his  hand,  for  it  is 
certain  we  see  the  original  of  Sappho  to  Pliaon  with  much  more 
life  and  likeness  in  his  version,  than  in  that  of  Sir  Car  6crope. 
And  this  (he  adds)  is  the  more  to  be  wished,  because  in  the 
English  tongue  we  have  scarcely  anything  truly  and  naturally 
written  upon  love. 10  He  also,  in  taxing  Sir  Kichard  Black- 

1  Theobald,  Letter  in  " Mist's  Journal,"  June  22, 1728. 

2  Smedley,  pref.  to  "Gulliveriana,"  pp.  14,  16. 

s  "  Gulliveriana,"  p.  332.  4  Anno  1723.  6  -Anno  1729. 

6  Preface  to  "  Hem.  on  '  The  Kapo  of  the  Lock,'  "  p.  12;  and  in  the 
last  page  of  that  treatise. 

7  Page  6.  7,  of  the  Preface,  by  Concanen,  to  a  book  called,  "A  Col- 
lection of  all  the  Letters,  Essays,  Verses,   and  Advertisements," 
occasioned  by  Pope   and   Swift's  "Miscellanies."    Printed    for  A. 
Moore,  8vo,  1712. 

8  A  list  of  Persons,  &c.,  at  the  end  of  the  forementioned  "Collection, 
of  ail  the  Letters,  Essays,"  &c. 

9  Introduction  to  his  "  Shakespeare  Restored,"  in  4to,  p.  3. 

1°  "Commentary  on  the  Duke  of  Buckingham's  'Essay,' "  8vo.  1721. 
p.  97,  98. 


536  APPENDIX. 

more  for  his  herterodox  opinions  of  Homer,  challengeth  him 
to  answer  what  Ms.  Pope  hath  said  in  his  preface  to  that 
poet. 

Mr.   Oldmixon 

calls  him  a  great  master  of  our  tongue ;  declares  ' '  the  purity  and 
perfection  of  the  English  language  to  be  found  in  his  Homer  ; 
and,  saying  there  are  more  good  in  verses  Dryden's  Virgil  than 
in  any  other  work,  except  this  of  our  author  only."  1 

The  Author  of  a  Letter  to  Mr.  Gibber 

says :  "Pope  was  so  good  a  versifier  [once]  that,  his  prede- 
cessor Mr.  Dryden,  and  his  contemporary  Mr.  Prior  excepted, 
the  harmony  of  his  numbers  is  equal  to  anybody's.  And,  that 
he  had  all  the  merit  that  a  man  can  have  that  way." ' 2  And 

Mr.  Thomas  Cooke, 

after  much  blemishing  our  author's  Homer,  crieth  out : 

"  But  in  his  other  works  what  beauties  shine, 
While  sweetest  music  dwells  in  every  line  ! 
These  he  admired,  on  these  he  stamp'd  his  praise, 
And  bade  them  live  to  brighten  future  days."3 

So  also  one  who  takes  the  name  of 

H.  Stanhope, 

the  maker  of  certain  verses  to  Duncan  Campbell,4  in  that 
poem,  which  is  wholly  a  satire  upon  Mr.  Pope,  conf  esseth, 

"  'Tis  true,  if  finest  notes  alone  could  shew 
(Tuned  justly  high,  or  regularly  low) 
That  we  should  fame  to  these  mere  vocals  give : 
Pope  more  than  we  can  offer  should  receive : 
For  when  some  gliding  river  is  his  theme, 
His  lines  run  smoother  than  the  smoothest  stream,"  &c. 

Mist's  Journal,  June  8,  1728. 

Although  he  says,  "  The  smooth  numbers  of  the  Dunciad 
are  all  that  recommend  it,  nor  has  it  any  other  merit ;  "  yet 
that  same  paper  hath  these  words:  "The  author  is  allowed 
to  be  a  perfect  master  of  an  easy  and  elegant  versification.  In 
all  his  works  we  find,  the  most  happy  turns,  and  natural  sim- 
iles, wonderfully  short  and  thick  sown." 

The  Essay  on  the  Dunciad  also  owns,  p.  2o,  it  is  very  full 
of  beautiful  images.  But  the  panegyric  which  crowns  all 
t-hat  can  be  said  on  this  poem,  is  bestowed  by  our  laureate, 

Mr.  Colley  Cibber, 

who  "  grants  it  to  be  a  better  poem  of  its  kind  than  ever 
was  writ:  "  but  adds,  "  it  was  a  victory  over  a  parcel  of  poor 

i  In  his  prose  "  Essay  on  Criticism."  2  Printed  by  J.  Koberts, 

1742,  p.  11. 

3  «  Battle  of  the  Poets,"  folio,  p.  15. 
*  Printed,  under  the  title  o£  "The  Progress  of  Dulness,"  12mo,  1728. 


APPENDIX.  537 

wretches,  whom  it  was  almost  cowardice  to  conquer. — A  man 
might  as  well  triumph  for  having  killed  so  many  silly  flies 
that  offended  him.  Could  he  have  let  them  alone,  by  this 
time,  poor  souls!  they  had  all  been  buried  in  oblivion."  l 
Here  we  see  our  excellent  laureate  allows  the  justice  of  the 
satire  on  every  man  in  it,  but  himself ;  as  the  great  Mr. 
Dennis  did  before  him. 
The  said 

Mr.  Dennis  and  Mr.  Gildon. 

in  the  most  furious  of  all  their  words  (the  fo recited  Charac- 
ter, p.  5),  do  in  concert  '2  confess,  ' '  That  some  men  of  good 
understanding  value  him  for  his  rhymes."  And  (p.  17) 
"that  he  has  got,  like  Mr.  Bayes  in  the  Rehearsal  (that  is, 
like  Mr.  Dryden),  a  notable  knack  at  rhyming,  and  writing 
smooth  verse  " 

On  his  Essay  on  Man,  numerous  were  the  praises  bestowed 
by  his  avowed  enemies,  in  the  imagination  that  the  same 
was  not  written  by  him,  as  it  was  printed  anonymously. 

Thus  sang  of  it  even 

Bezaleel  Morris : 

"  Auspicious  bard !  while  all  admire  thy  strain, 
•  All  but  the  selfish,  ignorant,  and  vain ; 

I,  whom  no  bribe  to  servile  flattery  drew, 
Must  pay  the  tribute  to  thy  merit  due : 
Thy  muse  sublime,  significant,  and  clear, 
Alike  informs  the  soul,  and  charms  the  ear,"  &c. 

And 

Mr.  Leonard  Welsted 

thus  wrote  3  to  the  unknown  author,  on  the  first  publication 
of  the  said  Essay;  "  I  must  own,  after  the  reception  which 
the  vilest  and  most  immoral  ribaldry  hath  lately  met  with, 
I  was  surprised  to  see  what  I  had  long  despaired,  a  perform- 

1  Cibber's  "Letter  to  Mr.  Pope,"  p.  9,  22. 

2  [In  concert]     Hear  how  Mr.  Dennis  hath    proved    our  mistake 
in  this  case:    "As  to  my  writing  in  concert  with  Mr.  Gildon,  I 
declare  upon  the  honour  and  word  of  a  gentleman,  that  I  never 
wrote  so  much  as  one  line  in  concert  with  any  one  man  whatsoever. 
And -these  two  letters  from  Gildon  will  plainly  shew,  that  we  are  not 
writers  in  concert  with  each  other. 

'Sir, 

'  The  height  of  my  ambition  is  to  please  me»of  the  best  judgment ; 
and,  finding  that  I  ha^ve  entertained  my  master  agreeably,  I  have 
the  extent  of  the  reward  of  my  labour.' 

'Sir, 

'  I  had  not  the  opportunity  of  hearing  of  your  excellent  pamphlet 
till  this  da> .  I  am  infinitely  satisfied  and  pleased  with  it,  and  hope 
you  will  meet  with  that  encouragement  your  admirable  performance 
deserves,  &c. 

«CH.  GILDON.' 

"Now  is  it  not  plain,  that  any  one  who  sends  such  compliments  to 
another,  has  not  been  used  to  write  in  partnership  with  him 
to  whom  he  sends  them?  "  Dennis,  "  Remarks  on  the  Dunciad,"  p. 
50.  Mr.  Dennis  is  therefore  welcome  to  take  this  piece  to  himself, 

3  la  a  letter  uuder  his  own  hand,  dated  March  12, 1733, 


538  APPENDIX. 

ance  deserving  the  name  of  a  poet.  Such,  sir,  is  your  work, 
It  is,  indeed,  above  all  commendation,  and  ought  to  have 
been  published  in  an  age  an4  country  more  worthy  of  it.  If 
my  testimony  be  of  weight  anywhere,  you  are  sure  to  have 
it  in  the  amplest  manner,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

Thus  we  sec  every  one  of  his  works  hath  been  extolled  by 
one  or  other  of  his  most  inveterate  enemies;  and  to  the  suc- 
cess of  them  all  they  do  unanimously  give  testimony.  But 
it  is  sufficient,  instar  omnium,  to  behold  the  great  critic,  Mr. 
Dennis,  sorely  lamenting  it,  even  from  the  Essay  on  Criti- 
cism to  this  day  of  the  Dunciad  !  ' '  A  most  notorious  instance 
(quoth  he)  of  the  depravity  of  genius  and  taste,  the  appro- 
bation this  Essay  meets  with. l — I  can  safely  affirm,  that  I 
never  attacked  any  of  these  writings,  unless  they  had  suc- 
cess infinitely  beyond  their  merit.  This,  though  an  empty, 
has  been  a  popular  scribbler.  The  epidemic  madness  of  the 
times  has  given  him  reputation.2 — If,  after  the  cruel  treat- 
ment so  many  extraordinary  men  (Spenser,  Lord  Bacon,  Ben 
Jonson,  Milton,  Butler,  Otway,  and  others)  have  received 
from  this  country,  for  these  last  hundred  years,  I  should 
shift  the  scene,  and  shew  all  that  penury  charged  at  once  to 
riot  and  profuseness;  and  more  squandered  away  upon  one 
object,  than  would  have  satisfied  the  greater  part  of  those 
extraordinary  men;  the  reader  to  whom  this  one  creature 
should  be  unknown,  would  fancy  him  a  prodigy  of  art  ana 
nature,  would  believe  that  all  the  great  qualities  of  these 
persons  were  centered  in  him  alone.  But  if  1  should  ven- 
ture to  assure  him,  that  the  people  of  England  had  made 
such  a  choice — the  reader  would  either  believe  me  a  mali- 
cious enemy,  and  slanderer,  or  that  the  reign  of  the  last 
(Queen  Anne's)  ministry  was  designed  by  fate  to  encourage 
fools/'3 

But  it  happens  that  this  our  poet  never  had  any  place, 
pension,  or  gratuity,  in  any  shape,  from  the  said  glorious 
queen,  or  any  of  her  ministers.  All  he  owed,  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  life,  to  any  court,  was  a  subscription  for  his 
Homer,  of  £200,  from  King  George  I.  and  £100  from  the 
prince  and  princess. 

However,  lest  we  imagine  our  author's  success  was  con- 
stant and  universal,  they  acquaint  us  of  certain  works  in  a 
less  degree  of  repute,  whereof,  although  o^ned  by  others, 
yet  do  they  assure  us  he  is  the  writer.  Of  this  sort  Mr. 
Dennis  4  ascribes  to'him  two  farces,  whose  names  he  does 
not  tell,  but  assures  us  that  there  is  not  one  jest  in  them; 
and  an  imitation  of  Horace,  whose  title  he  does  not  mention, 
but  assures  us  it  is  much  more  execrable  than  all  his  works.5 
The  "  Daily  Journal,"  May  11,  1728,  assures  us,  "  He  is  be- 
low Tom  Durfey,  in  the  drama,  because  (as  that  writer 
thinks)  the  *  Marriage-Hater  Matched,'  and  the  'Boarding 

1  Dennis,  preface  to  his  "  Reflections  on  the  Essay  on  Criticism," 

2  Preface  to  his  l<  Kemarks  on  Homer." 

3  "  Kemarks  on  Homer,"  pp.  8,  9.    6  Ib.,  p.  8, 
*  "  Character  of  Mr.  Pope,"  p.  7¥ 


APPENDIX.  539 

School/  are  better  than  the  '  What-d'ye-call-it; '"  which  is 
not  Mr.  P.'s,  but  Mr.  Gay's.  Mr.  Gildon  assures  us,  in  his 
"  New  Rehearsal/'  p.  48,  "  That  he  was  writing  a  play  of 
the  Lady  Jane  Gray;"  but  it  afterwards  proved  to  be  Mr. 
Rowe's.  We  are  assured  by  another,  "  He  wrote  a  pamphlet 
called  '  Dr.  Andrew  Tripe;'"  l  which  proved  to  be  one  Dr. 
Wagstaffs.  Mr.  Theobald  assures  us,  in  "Mist"  of  the 
27th  of  April,  "  That  the  treatise  of  the  Profound  is  very 
dull,  and  that  Mr.  Pope  is  the  author  of  it."  The  writer  of 
"  Gulliveriana "  is  of  another  opinion:  and  says,  "The 
whole,  or  greatest  part,  of  the  merit  of  this  treatise  must 
and  can  only  be  ascribed  to  Gulliver."2  [Here,  gentle  reader! 
cannot  I  but  smile  at  the  strange  blindness  and  positiveness 
of  men ;  knowing  the  said  treatise  to  appertain  to  none  other 
but  to  me,  Martinus  Scriblerus.J 

We  are  assured,  in  "Mist  "of  June  8th,  "That  his  own 
plays  and  farces  would  better  have  adorned  the  "Dunciad" 
than  those  of  Mr.  Theobald ;  for  he  had  neither  genius  for 
tragedy  nor  comedy."  Which,  whether  true  or  not,  it  is  not 
easy  to  judge ;  in  as  much  as  he  had  attempted  neither.  Un- 
less we  will  take  it  for  granted,  with  Mr.  Gibber,  that  his  be- 
ing once  very  angry  at  hearing  a  friend's  play  abused,  was  an 
infallible  proof  the  play  was  his  own ;  the  said  Mr.  Gibber 
tliinking  it  impossible  for  a  man  to  be  much  concerned  for 
any  but  himself :  "Now  let  any  man  judge  (saith  he)  by  his 
concern,  who  was  the  true  mother  of  the  child." ' 3 

But  from  all  that  has  been  said,  the  discerning  reader  will 
collect  that  it  little  availed  our  author  to  have  any  candor, 
since,  when  he  declared  he  did  not  write  for  others,  it  was 
not  credited ;  as  little  to  have  any  modesty  since,  when  he 
declined  writing  in  any  way  himself,  the  presumption  of  oth- 
ers was  imputed  to  him.  If  he  singly  enterprised  one  great 
work,  he  was  taxed  of  boldness  and  madness  to  a  prodigy  :4 
if  he  took  assistants  in  another,  it  was  complained  of,  and  rep- 
resented as  a  great  injury  to  the  public.5  The  loftiest  heroics, 
the  lowest  ballads,  treatises  against  the  state  or  church,  satires 
on  lords  and  ladies,  raillery  on  wits  and  authors,  squabbles 
with  booksellers,  or  even  full  and  true  accounts  of  monsters, 
poisons  and  murders ;  of  any  hereof  was  there  nothing  so  good, 
nothing  so  bad,  which  hath  not  at  one  or  other  season  been  to 
him  ascribed.  If  it  bore  no  author's  name,  then  lay  he  con- 
cealed ;  if  it  did,  he  fathered  it  upon  that  author  to  be  yet  bet- 
ter concealed  :  if  it  resembled  any  of  his  styles,  then  was  it  evi- 
dent ;  if  it  did  not,  then  disguised  he  it  on  set  purpose.  Yea,  eveo 
direct  oppositions  in  religion,  principles,  and  politics,  have 
equally  been  supposed  in  him  inherent.  Surely  a  most  rare 
and  singular  character :  of  which  let  the  reader  make  what  he 
can. 

Doubtless  most  commentators  would  hence  take  occasion  to 

i  Ib.,  p.  6.    2  "  Gulliv.,"  p.  336.   3  Gibber's  "  Letters  to  Mr.  P.,"  p.  19. 
4  Burnet's  "  Homerldes,"  p.  1,  of  his  translation  of  the  "  Iliad." 
&The  "London"  and  "Mist's"  Journals  on  his  undertaking  th« 
*'  Qdyssey," 


540  APPENDIX. 

turn  all  to  their  author's  advantage,  and  from  the  testimony 
of  his  very  enemies  would  affirm,  that  his  capacity  was  bound- 
less, as  well  as  his  imagination ;  that  he  was  a  perfect  master 
of  all  styles,  and  all  arguments ;  and  that  there  was  in  those 
times,  no  other  writer,  in  any  kind,  of  any  degree  of  excel- 
lence, save  he  himself.  But  as  this  is  not  our  own  sentiment, 
we  shall  determine  on  nothing ;  but  leave  thee,  gentle  reader, 
to  steer  thy  judgment  equally  between  various  opinions,  and 
to  choose  whether  thou  wilt  incline  to  the  testimony  of  au- 
thors avowed,  or  of  authors  concealed  j  of  those  who  knew 
him,  or  of  these  who  knew  him  not, 

i • 


MAETINUS    SCKIBLEKUS. 
OF  THE  POEM. 

THIS  poem,  as  it  celebrateth  the  most  grave  and  ancient  of 
things,  Chaos,  Night,  and  Dulness:  so  is  it  of  the  most 
grave  and  ancient  kind.  Homer  (saith  Aristotle)  was  the 
first  who  gave  the  form,  and  (saith  Horace)  who  adapted  the 
measure  to  heroic  poesy.  But  even  before  this,  may  be  ra- 
tionally presumed,  from  what  the  ancients  have  left  written, 
was  a  piece  by  Homer,  composed  of  like  nature  and  matter 
with  this  of  our  poet.  For  of  epic  sort  it  appeareth  to  have 
been,  yet  of  matter  surely  not  unpleasant,  witness  what  is 
reported  of  it  by  the  learned  Archbishop  Eustathius,  in 
Odyss.  x.  And  accordingly  Aristotle,  in  his  Poetics,  chap, 
iv.,  doth  further  set  forth,  that  as  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey 
gave  example  to  tragedy,  so  did  this  poem  to  comedy  its  first 
idea. 

From  these  authors  also  it  should  seem  that  the  hero,  or 
chief  personage  of  it  was  no  less  obscure,  and  his  under- 
standing and  sentiments  no  less  quaint  and  strange  (if  in- 
deed  no  more  so)  than  any  of  the  actors  of  our  poem.  Mar- 
gites  was  the  name  of  this  personage,  whom  antiquity  re. 
cordeth  to  have  been  Dunce  the  first;  and  surely  from  what 
we  hear  of  him,  not  unworthy  to  be  the  root  of  so  spreading 
a  tree,  and  so  numerous  a  posterity.  The  poem,  therefore, 
celebrating  him  was  properly  and  absolutely  a  Dunciad; 
which,  though  now  unhappily  lost,  yet  is  its  nature  suffi- 
ciently known  by  the  infallible  tokens  aforesaid.  And  thus 
it  doth  appear,  that  the  first  Dunciad  was  the  first  epic  poem, 
written  by  Homer  himself,  and  anterior  even  to  the  Iliad 
or  Odyssey. 

Now,  forasmuch  as  our  poet  hath  translated  those  two  fa- 
JHQUS,  works  pt'  Homer,  whi<?h  are  yet  left,  he  did  conceive  \\ 


APPENDIX.  541 

in  some  sort  his  duty  to  imitate  that  also  which  was 
lost:  and  was  therefore  induced  to  bestow  on  it  the  same 
form  which  Homer's  is  reported  to  have  had,  namely,  that  of 
epic  poem;  with  a  title  also  framed  after  the  ancient  Greek 
manner,  to  wit,  that  of  Dunciad. 

Wonderful  it  is,  that  so  few  of  the  moderns  have  been 
stimulated  to  attempt  some  Dunciad  !  since  in  the  opinion  of 
the  multitude,  it  might  cost  less  pain  and  toil  than  an  imita- 
tion of  the  greater  epic.  But  possible  it  is  also,  that,  on 
due  reflection,  the  maker  might  find  it  easier  to  paint  a 
Charlemagne,  a  Brute,  or  a  Godfrey,  with  just  pomp  and 
dignity  heroic,  than  a  Margites,  a  Codrus,  or  a  Fleckno. 

We  shall  next  declare  the  occasion  and  the  cause  which 
moved  our  poefto  this  particular  work.  He  lived  in  those 
days,  when  (after  Providence  had  permitted  the  invention  of 
printing  as  a  scourge  for  the  sins  of  the  learned)  paper  also 
became  so  cheap,  and  printers  so  numerous,  that  a  deluge  of 
authors  covered  the  land:  whereby  not  only  the  peace  of  the 
honest  unwriting  subject  was  daily  molested,  but  unmerci- 
ful demands  were  made  of  his  applause,  yea,  of  his  money, 
by  such  as  would  neither  earn  the  one  nor  deserve  the  other. 
At  the  same  time,  the  license  of  the  press  was  such,  that  it 
grew  dangerous  to  refuse  them  either :  for  they  would 
forthwith  publish  slanders  unpunished,  the  authors  being 
anonymous,  and  skulking  under  the  wings  of  publishers,  a 
set  of  men  who  neither  scrupled  to  vend  either  calumny 
or  blasphemy,  as  long  as  the  town  would  call  for  it. 

1  Now  our  author,  living  in  those  times,  did  conceive  it  an 
endeavour  well  worthy  an  honest  satirist,  to  dissuade  the 
dull,  and  punish  the  wicked,  the  only  way  that  was  left. 
Li  that  public-spirited  view  he  laid  the  plan  of  this  poem,  as 
the  greatest  service  he  was  capable  (without  much  hurt,  or 
being  slain)  to  render  his  dear  country.  First,  taking  things 
from  their  original,  he  considereth  the  causes  creative  of 
such  authors,  namely,  dulness  and  poverty;  the  one  born 
with  them,  the  other  contracted  by  neglect  of  their  proper 
talents,  through  self-conceit  of  greater  abilities.  This  truth 
lie  wrappeth  in  an  allegory2  (as  the  construction  of  epic 
poesy  requireth) ,  and  feigns  that  one  of  these  goddesses  had 
taken  up  her  abode  with  the  other,  and  that  they  jointly  in- 
spired all  such  writers  and  such  works.  He  proceedeth  to 
shew  the  qualities  they  bestow  on  these  authors,3  and  the 
effects  they  produce:4  then  the  materials  or  stock,  with 
"vhich  they  furnish  them; 5  and,  above  all,  that  self-opinion  G 
which  causeth  it  to  seem  to  themselves  vastly  greater  than 
it  is,  and  is  the  prime  motive  of  their  setting  up  in  this  sad 
and  sorry  merchandise.  The  great  power  of  these  goddesses 
acting  in  alliance  (whereof  as  the  one  is  the  mother  of  indus- 
try so  is  the  other  of  plodding)  was  to  be  exemplified  in  some 
one  great  and  remarkable  action;  and  none  could  be  more  so 

1  Vide  Bossu,  "  Du  Poeme  Epique,"  chap.  viii. 

a  Bossu,  chap.  vii.  a  Book  i.,  ver.  32,  &c.  *  Ver.  45  to  54. 

*  Yer.  67  to  77.  «  Yer.  80. 


542  APPENDIX. 

than  that  which,  our  poet  liath  chosen,-  viz^  the  restoration 
of  the  reign  of  Chaos  and  Night,  by  the  ministry  of  Dulness, 
their  daughter,  in  the  removal  of  her  imperial  seat  from  the 
city  to  the  polite  world,  as  the  action  of  the  JEneid  is  the 
restoration  of  the  empire  of  Troy,  by  the  removal  of  the  race 
from  thence  to  Latium.  But  as  Homer  singeth  only  the 
wrath  of  Achilles,  yet  includes  in  his  poem  the  whole  his- 
tory of  the  Trojan  war,  in  like  manner  our  author  hath 
drawn  into  this  single  action  the  whole  history  of  Dul- 
ness and  her  children. 

A  person  must  next  be  fixed  upon  to  support  this  action. 
This  phantom  in  the  poet's  mind  must  have  a  name,2  he 

finds  it  to  be ;  and  he  becomes  of  course  the  hero  of 

the  poem. 

The  fable  being  thus,  according  to  the  best  example,  one 
and  entire,  as  contained  in  the  proposition  ;  the  machinery  is 
a  continued  chain  of  allegories,  setting  forth  the  whole  pow- 
er, ministry,  and  empire,  of  Dulness,  extended  through  her 
subordinate  instruments,  in  all  her  various  operations. 

This  is  branched  into  episodes,  each  of  which  hath  its 
moral  apart,  though  all  conducive  to  the  main  end.  The 
crowd  assembled  in  the  second  book,  demonstrates  the  de- 
sign to  be  more  extensive  than  to  bad  poets  only „  and  that 
we  may  expect  other  episodes  of  the  patrons,  encouragers,  or 
paymasters  of  such  authors,  as  occasion  shall  bring  them 
forth.  And  the  third  book,  if  well  considered,  seemeth  to 
embrace  the  whole  world.  Each  of  the  games  relateth  to 
some  or  other  vile  class  of  wrriters:  the  first  concerneth 
the  plagiary,  to  whom  he  giveth  the  name  of  Moore;  the 
second,  the  libellous  novelist;  whom  he  styleth  Eliza;  the 
third,  the  flattering  dictator;  the  fourth,  the  brawling  critic, 
or  noisy  poet;  the  fifth,  the  dark  and  dirty  party  writer  : 
and  so  of  the  rest :  assigning  to  each  some  proper  name  or 
other,  such  as  he  could  find. 

As  for  the  characters,  the  public  hath  already  acknowedged 
how  justly  they  are  drawn  :  the  manners  are  so  depicted, 
and  the  sentiment  so  peculiar  to  those  to  whom  applied,  that 
surely  to  transfer  them  to  any  other  or  wiser  personages, 
would  be  exceeding  difficult :  and  certain  it  is,  that  every 
person  concerned,  being  consulted  apart,  hath  readily  owned 
the  resemblance  of  every  portrait,  his  own  excepted.  So 
Mr.  Gibber  calls  them  ' '  a  parcel  of  poor  wretches,  so  many 
$illy  flies;"3  but  adds,  "our  author's  wit  is  remarkably 
more  bare  and  barren,  whenever  it  would  fall  foul  on  Cib- 
ber,  than  upon  any  other  person  whatever. " 

The  descriptions  are  singular,  the  comparisons  very 
quaint,  the  narration  various,  yet  of  one  colour;  the  purity 
and  chastity  of  diction  is  so  preserved,  that,  in  the  places 
most  suspicious,  not  the  wrords  but  only  the  images  have 
been  censured,  and  yet  are  those  images  no  other  than 

i  Ibid.,  chaps,  vii.,  viii. 

a  Bossu,  chap.  viii.    Vide  Aristot.  Poet.  cap.  ix. 

»  Gibber's  "Letter  to  Mr.  P.,"  pp.  9, 12,  41. 


APPENDIX.  543 

have  been  sanctified  by  ancient  and  classical  authority 
(though,  as  was  the  manner  of  those  good  times,  not  so  curi- 
ously wrapped  up)  t  yea,  and  commented  upon  by  the  most 
grave  doctors,  and  approved  critics. 

As  it  beareth  the  name  of  epic,  it  is  thereby  subjected  to 
such  severe  indispensable  rules  as  are  laid  on  all  neoterics, 
a  strict  imitation  of  the  ancients;  insomuch  that  any  devi- 
ation, accompanied  with  whatever  poetic  beauties,  hath  al- 
ways been  censured  by  the  sound  critic.  How  exact  that 
limitation  hath  been  in  this  piece,  appeareth  not  only  by 
its  general  structure,  but  by  particular  allusions  infinite, 
many  whereof  have  escaped  both  the  commentator  and  poet 
himself,  yea,  divers  by  his  exceeding  diligence  are  so  altered 
and  interwoven  with  the  rest,  that  several  have  already 
been,  and  more  will  bo,  by  the  ignorant  abused,  as  al- 
together and  originally  his  own. 

In  a  word,  the  whole  poem  proveth  itself  to  be  the  work 
of  our  author,  when  his  faculties  were  in  full  vigour  and 
perfection;  at  that  exact  time  when  years  have  ripened  the 
judgment,  without  diminishing  the  imagination:  which, 
by  good  critics,  is  held  to  be  punctually  at  forty.  For  at 
that  season  it  was  that  Virgil  finished  his  Georgics ;  and  Sir 
Richard  Blackmore,  at  the  like  age,  composing  his  Arthurs, 
declared  the  same  to  be  the  very  acme  and  pitch  of  life  for 
epic  poesy:  though  since  he  hath  altered  it  to  sixty,  the  year 
in  which  he  published  his  Alfred.1  True  it  is,  that  the  tal- 
ents for  criticism,  namely  smartness,  quick  censure,  viva- 
city of  remark,  certainty  of  asseveration,  indeed  all  but 
acerbity  seem  rather  the  gifts  of  youth  than  of  riper  age: 
but  it  is  far  otherwise  in  poetry;  witness  the  works  of 
Mr.  Rymer  and  Mr.  Dennis,  who,  beginning  with  criticism, 
became  afterwards  such  poets  as  no  age  hath  paralleled. 
With  good  reason,  therefore,  did  our  author  choose  to  write 
his  essay  on  that  subject  at  twenty,  and  reserve  for  his 
maturer  years  this  great  and  wonderful  work  of  the  Dun- 
cia. 


EICARDUS  ARISTARCHUS 


OF   THE   HERO   OF  THE   POEM. 

OF  the  nature  of  Dunciad  in  general,  whence  derived,  and 
on  what  authority  founded,  as  well  as  of  the  art  and  conduct 
of  this  our  poem  in  particular,  the  learned  and  laborious 
Scriblerus  hath,  according  to  his  manner  and  with  tolerable 
share  of  judgment,  dissertated.  But  when  he  cometh  to 
speak  of  the  person  of  the  hero  fitted  for  such  poem  in 

1  See  bis  Essays, 


5M  APPENDIX. 

truth,  lie  miresably  halts  and  hallucinates  :  for,  misled  by 
one  Monsieur  Bossu,  a  Gallic  critic,  he  prateth  of  I  cannot 
tell  what  phantom  of  a  hero,  only  raised  up  to  sppport  the 
fable.  A  putid  conceit  !  as  if  Homer  and  Virgil,  like  mod- 
ern undertakers,  who  first  build  their  house,  and  then  seek 
out  for  a  tenant,  had  contrived  the  story  of  a  war  and  a  wan- 
dering, before  they  once  thought  either  of  Achilles  or 
jEneas  t  We  shall  therefore  set  our  good  brother  and  the 
world  also  right  in  this  particular,  by  assuring  them,  that  in 
the  great  epic,  the  prime  intention  of  the  muse  is  to  exalt 
heroic  virtue,  in  order  to  propagate  the  love  of  it  among  the 
children  of  men  ;  and  consequently  that  the  poet's  first 
thought  must  needs  be  turned  upon  a  real  subject  meet  for 
laud  and  celebration;  not  one  whom  he  is  to  make,  but  one 
whom  he  may  find,  truly  illustrious.  This  is  the  primum 
mobile  of  his  poetic  world,  whence  everything  is  to  receive 
life  and  motion.  For,  this  subject  being  found,  he  is  im- 
mediately ordained,  or  rather  acknowledged,  a  hero,  and  put 
upon  such  action  as  befitted  the  dignity  of  his  character. 

But  the  muse  ceaseth  not  here  her  eagle-flight.  For  some- 
times, satiated  with  the  contemplation  of  these  suns  of  glory, 
she  turneth  downward  on  her  wing,  and  darts  with  Jove's 
lightning  on  the  goose  and  serpent  kind.  For  we  may  apply 
to  the  muse  in  her  various  moods  what  an  ancient  master  of 
wisdom  affirmeth  of  the  gods  in  general:  Si  Diinoniras- 
cuntur  impiis  et  injustis,  nee  pios  utique  justosque  diligunt. 
In  rebus  enim  diversis,  aut  in  utramque  partem  moveri 
necesse  est,  aut  in  neutram.  Itaque  qui  bonos  diligit,  et 
malos  odit;et  qui  malos  non  odit,  nee  bonos  diligit.  Quia  et 
diligere  bonos  ex  odio  malorum  venit;  et  malos  odisse  ex 
b&norum  caritate  descendit.  Which  in  our  vernacular 
idiom  may  be  thus  interpreted:  "  If  the  gods  be  not  pro- 
voked at  evil  men,  neither  are  they  delighted  with  the  good 
and  just.  For  contrary  objects  must  either  excite  contrary 
affections,  or  no  affections  at  all.  So  that  he  who  loveth 
good  men,  must  at  the  same  time  hate  the  bad:  and  he  who 
hateth.  not  bad  men,  cannot  love  the  good;  because  to  love 
good  men  proceedeth  from  an  aversion  to  evil,  and  to  hate 
evil  men  from  a  tenderness  to  the  good."  From  this  deli- 
cacy of  the  muse  arose  and  the  little  epic  (more  lively  and 
choleric  than  her  elder  sister,  whose  bulk  and  complexion 
incline  her  to  the  phlegmatic):  and  for  this,  some  notorious 
vehicle  of  vice  and  folly  was  sought  out,  to  make  thereof  an 
example.  An  early  instance  of  which  (nor  could  it  escape 
the  accuracy  of  Scriblerus)  the  father  of  epic  poem  himself 
affordeth.  us.  From  him  the  practice  descended  to  the 
Greek  dramatic  poets,  his  offspring;  who,  in  the  composition 
of  their  tetralogy,  or  set  of  four  pieces,  were  wont  to  make 
the  last  a  satiric  tragedy.  Happily,  one  of  these  ancient 
Dunciads  (as  we  may  well  term,  it)  is  come  down  unto  us, 
amongst  the  tragedies  of  the  poet  Euripides.  And  what 
doth  the  reader  suppose  may  be  the  subject  thereof  ?  Why, 
in  truth,  and  it  is  worthy  of  observation,  the  unequal  contest 


APPENDIX.  545 

of  an  old,  dull  debauched  buffoon  Cyclops  with  the  heaven- 
directed  favourite  of  Minerva;  who,  after  having  quietly 
borne  all  the  monster's  obscene  and  impious  ribaldry,  end- 
eth  the  farce  in  punishing  him  with  the  mark  of  an  indeli- 
ble brand  in  his  forehead.  May  we  not  then  be  excused,  if, 
for  the  future,  we  consider  the  epics  of  Homer,  Virgil,  and 
Milton,  together  with  this  our  poem,  as  a  complete  tetralogy; 
in  which  the  last  worthily  holdeth  the  place  or  station  of 
the  satiric  piece  ?  Proceed  we,  therefore,  in  our  subject. 
It  hath  been  long,  and,  alas  for  pity  !  still  remaineth  a  ques- 
tion, whether  the  hero  of  the  greater  epic  should  be  an  hon- 
est man;  or  as  the  French  critics  express  it,  un  honnete 
homme : 1  but  it  never  admitted  of  a  doubt,  but  that  the 
hero  of  the  little  epic  should  be  just  the  contrary.  Hence, 
to  the  advantage  of  our  Dunciad,  we  may  observe,  much 
juster  the  moral  of  that  poem  must  needs  be  where  so  im- 
portant a  question  is  previously  decided. 

But  then  it  is  not  every  knave,  nor  (let  me  add)  every  fool, 
that  is  a  fit  subject  for  a  Duncaid.  There  must  still  exist 
some  analogy,  if  not  resemblance  of  qualities,  between  the 
heroes  of  the  two  poems;  and  this,  in  order  to  admit  what 
neoteric  critics  call  the  parody,  one  of  the  liveliest  graces  of 
the  little  epic.  Thus  it  being  agreed  that  the  constituent 
qualities  of  the  great  epic  hero,  are  wisdom,  bravery,  and 
love,  from  whence  springeth  heroic  virtue;  it  followeth,  that 
those  of  the  lesser  epic  hero  should  be  vanity,  assurance* 
and  debauchery,  from  which  happy  assemblage  resulteth 
heroic  dulness,  the  never-dying  subject  of  this  our  poem. 

This  being  settled  come  we  now  to  particulars.  It  is  the 
character  of  true  wisdom  to  seek  its  chief  support  and  con- 
fidence within  itself;  and  to  place  that  support  in  the  re- 
sources which  proceed  from  a  conscious  rectitude  of  will. — 
And  are  the  advantages  of  vanity,  when  arising  to  the  heroic 
standard,  at  all  short  of  this  self-complacence  ?  nay,  are 
they  not,  in  the  opinion  of  the  enamoured  owner,  far  be- 
yond it  ?  "  Let  the  world,"  will  such  an  one  say,  "  impute 
to  me  what  folly  or  weakness  they  please;  but  till  wisdom 
can  give  me  something  that  will  make  me  more  heartily 
happy,  I  am  content  to  be  gazed  at."  2  This,  we  see,  is  vani- 
ty ancording  to  the  heroic  gage  or  measure;  not  that  low 
and  ignoble  species  which  pretendeth  to  virtues  we  have 
not;  but  the  laudable  ambition  of  being  gazed  at  for  glorying 
in  those  vices  which  everybody  knows  we  have.  "  The 
world  may  ask,"  says  he  "why  I  make  my  follies  public? 
Why  not?  I  have  passed  my  life  very  pleasantly  with 
them."3  In  short,  there  is  no  sort  of  vanity  such  a  hero 
would  scruple,  but  that  which  might  go  near  to  degrade 
hi-m  from  his  high  station  in  this  our  Dunciad;  namely 
"  whether  it  would  not  be  vanity  in  him,  to  take  shame  to 
himself,  for  not  being  a  wise  man  ?  "  4 

i  "Si  un  heros  poetique  doit  etre  un  honnete  homme."— Bossu,  du 
•'Poeme  Eplque,"  liv.  v.,  ch.  5. 
*  Ded,  to  the  "  Life  of  C.  0."          *  Life,  p.  2,  8vo  edit.  *  Ibid. 


546  APPENDIX. 

Bravery,  the  second  attribute  of  the  true  hero,  is  courage 
manifesting  itself  in  every  limb;  while  its  correspondent 
virtue,  in  the  mock  hero,  is,  that  same  courage  all  collected 
into  the  face.  And  as  power,  when  drawn  together,  must 
needs  have  more  force  and  spirit  than  when  dispersed,  we 
generally  find  this  kind  of  courage  in  so  high  and  heroic  a 
degree,  that  it  insults  not  only  men,  but  gods.  Mezentius  is, 
without  doubt,  the  bravest  character  in  all  the  JSneis;  but 
how  ?  His  bravery,  we  know,  was  a  high  courage  of  blas- 
phemy. And  can  we  say  less  of  this  brave  man's,  who,  hav- 
ing told  us  that  he  placed  his  "  summum  bonum  in  those 
follies  which  he  was  not  content  barely  to  possess,  but  would 
likewise  glory  in/' adds,  "if  I  am  misguided,  'tis  nature's 
fault,  and  I  follow  her/'1  Nor  can  we  be  mistaken  in  mak- 
ing this  happy  quality  a  species  of  courage,  when  we  con- 
sider those  illustrious  marks  of  it,  which  made  his  face, 
"  more  known  (as  he  justly  boasteth)  than  most  in  the  king- 
dom; "  and  his  language  to  consist  of  what  we  must  allow  to 
be  the  most  daring  figure  of  speech,  that  which  is  taken  from 
the  name  of  God. 

Gentle  love,  the  next  ingredient  of  the  true  hero's  composi- 
tion, is  a  mere  bird  of  passage,  or  (as  Shakespeare  calls  it) 
"  summer-  teeming  lust,"  and  evaporates  in  the  heat  of  youth; 
doubtless  by  that  refinement  it  suffers  in  passing  through 
those  certain  strainers  which  our  poet  somewhere  speaketh 
of.  But  when  it  is  let  alone  to  work  upon  the  lees,  it  ac- 
quireth  strength  by  old  age;  and  becometh  a  lasting  orna- 
ment to  the  little  epic.  It  is  true,  indeed,  there  is  one  objec- 
tion, to  its  fitness  for  such  an  use :  for  not  only  the  ignorant 
may  think  it  common,  but  it  is  admitted  to  be  so,  even  by 
him  who  best  knoweth  its  value.  "Don't  you  think," 

argueth  he,  "to  say  only  a  man  has  his  w ,2  ought  to  go 

for  little  or  nothing?  because  defendit  numerus,  take  the 
first  ten  thousand  men  you  meet,  and,  I  believe,  you  would 
be  no  loser  if  you  betted  ten  to  one  that  every  single  sinner 
of  them,  one  with  another,  had  heen  guilty  of  the  same 
frailty/'3  But  here  he  seemeth  not  to  have  done  justice  to 
himself:  the  man  is  sure  enough  a  hero  who  hath  his  lady  at 
fourscore.  How  doth  his  modesty  herein  lessen  the  merit  of 
a  whole  well-spent  life!  not  taking  to  himself  the  commenda- 
tion (which  Horace  accounted  the  greatest  in  a  theatrical 
character)  of  continuing  to  the  very  dregs  the  same  he  was 
from  the  beginning, 


-  Servetur  ad  imum 


Qualis  ab  irifcepto  processerat. — — " 

But  here,  in  justice  both  to  the  poet  and  the  hero,  let  us 
further  remark,  that  the  calling  her  his  w ,  implied  she 

i  "Life  of  C.  C.,"  p.  23,  8vo  edit. 
a  Alluding  to  these  lines  in  the  Epist.  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot : 

«•  And  has  not  Colly  still  his  lord  and 

His  butchers  Henley,  his  free-masons  Moore?" 

»  "  Letter  to  Mr.  P.,"  p.  46. 


APPENDIX.  547 

was  his  own,  and  not  his  neighbor's.  Truly  a  commendable 
continence !  and  such  as  Scipio  himself  must  have  applauded. 
For  how  much  self-denial  was  necessary  not  to  covet  his 
neighbor's !  and  what  disorders  must  the  coveting  her  have 
occasioned  in  that  society,  where  (according  to  this  political 
calculator)  nine  in  ten  of  all  ages  have  their  concubines ! 

We  have  now,  as  briefly  as  we  could  devise,  gone  through 
the  three  constituent  qualities  of  either  hero.  But  it  is  not  in 
any,  or  in  all  of  these,  that  heroism  properly  or  essentially 
resideth.  It  is  a  lucky  result  rather  from  the  collision  of 
these  lively  qualities  against  one  another.  Thus,  as  from 
wisdom,  bravery,  and  love,  ariseth  magnanimity,  the  object 
of  admiration,  which  is  the  aim  of  the  greater  epic ;  so  from 
vanity,  assurance,  debauchery,  springeth  buffoonery,  the 
source  of  ridicule,  that  *  laughing  ornament,'  as  he  well  term- 
eth  it,  l  of  the  little  epic. 

He  is  not  ashamed  (God  forbid  he  ever  should  be  ashamed!) 
of  this  character,  who  deemeth  that  not  reason  but  risibility 
distinguisheth  the  human  species  from  the  brutal.  "As 
nature,"  saith  this  profound  philosopher,  "distinguished  our 
species  from  the  mute  creation  by  our  risibility,  her  design 
must  have  been  by  that  faculty  as  evidently  to  raise  our  hap- 
piness, as  by  our  os  sublime  (our  erected  faces)  to  lift  the  dig- 
nity of  our  form  above  them."  2  All  this  considered,  how 
complete  a  hero  must  he  be,  as  well  as  how  happy  a  man, 
whose  risibility  lieth  not  barely  in  his  muscles,  as  in  the  com- 
mon sort,  but  (as  himself  inf orineth  us)  in  his  very  spirits  ?  and 
whose  os  sublime  is  not  simply  an  erect  face,  but  a  brazen 
head ;  as  should  seem  by  his  preferring  it  to  one  of  iron,  said 
to  belong  to  the  late  king  of  Sweden  ?  8 

But  whatever  personal  qualities  a  hero  may  have,  the  ex- 
amples of  Achilles  and  ^Eneas  shew  us,  that  all  those  are  of 
small  avail,  without  the  constant  assistance  of  the  gods ;  for 
the  subversion  and  erection  of  empires  have  never  been  ad- 
judged the  work  of  man.  How  greatly  soever  then  we  may 
esteem  of  his  high  talents,  we  can  hardly  conceive  his  personal 
prowess  alone  sufficent  to  restore  the  decayed  empire  of  dul- 
ness.  So  weighty  an  achievement  must  require  the  particular 
favour  and  protection  of  the  great ;  who  being  the  natural 
patrons  and  supporters  of  letters,  as  the  ancient  gods  were  of 
Troy,  must  first  be  drawn  off  and  engaged  in  another  interest, 
before  the  total  subversion  of  them  can  be  accomplished.  To 
surmount,  therefore,  this  last  and  greatest  difficulty,  we  have, 
in  this  excellent  man,  a  professed  favourite  and  intimado  of 
the  great.  And  look,  of  what  force  ancient  piety  was  to 
draw  the  gods  into  the  party  of  JEneas,  that,  and  much 
stronger,  is  modern  incense,  to  engage  the  great  in  the  party 
of  dulness. 

Thus  have  we  essayed  to  portray  or  shadow  out  this  noble 
imp  of  fame.  But  the  impatient  reader  will  be  apt  to  say, 
"If  so  many  and  various  graces  go  to  the  making  up  a 

i  " Letter  to  Mr.  P.,"  p.  31.  a  "  Life,"  pp.  23,  24. 

«  «  Letter  to  Mr.  P.,"  p.  8. 


548  APPENDIX. 

hero,  what  mortal  shall  suffice  to  bear  his  character  ?  "  111 
hath  he  read  who  seeth  not,  in  every  trace  of  this  picture 
that  individual,  all-accomplished  person,  in  whom  these  rare 
virtues  and  lucky  circumstances  have  agreed  to  meet  and 
concentre  with  the  strongest  lustre  and  fullest  harmony. 

The  good  Scriblerus  indeed,  nay,  the  world  itself,  might 
be  imposed  on,  in  the  late  spurious  editions,  by  I  can't  tell 
what  sham-hero  or  phantom ;  but  it  was  not  so  easy  to  impose 
on  him  whom  this  egregious  error  most  of  all  concerned. 
For  no  sooner  had  the  fourth  book  laid  open  the  high 
and  swelling  scene,  but  he  recognised  his  own  heroic  acts: 
and  when  he  came  to  the  words, 

"  Soft  on  her  lap  her  laureat  son  reclines," 

(though  laureat  imply  no  more  than  one  crowned  with  lau- 
rel, as  befitteth  any  associate  or  consort  in  empire),  he  loudly 
resented  this  indignity  to  violated  Majesty.  Indeed,  not 
without  cause,  he  being  there  represented  as  fast  asleep;  so 
misbeseeming  the  eye  of  empire,  which,  like  that  of  Provi- 
dence, should  never  doze  nor  slumber.  "  Hah  !  "  saith-  he, 
"  fast  asleep,  it  seems  !  that's  a  little  too  strong.  Pert  and 
dull  at  least  you  might  have  allowed  me,  but  as  seldom  asleep 
as  any  fool."  1  However,  the  injured  hero  may  comfort  him- 
self with  this  reflection,  that  though  it  be  a  sleep,  yet  it  is 
not  the  sleep  of  death,  but  of  immortality.  Here  he  will2 
live  at  least  though  not  awake;  and  in  no  worse  condition 
than  many  an  enchanted  warrior  before  him.  The  famous 
Durandante,  for  instance,  was,  like  him,  cast  into  a  long 
slumber  by  Merlin,  the  British  bard  and  necromancer;  and 
his  example  for  submitting  to  it  with  a  good  grace,  might  be 
of  use  to  our  hero.  For  that  disastrous  knight  being  sorely 
pressed  or  driven  to  make  his  answer  by  several  persons  of 
quality,  only  replied  with  a  sigh,  "  Patience,  and  shuffle  the 
cards."  a 

But  now,  as  nothing  in  this  world,  no  not  the  most  sacred 
and  perfect  things,  either  of  religion  or  government,  can  es- 
cape the  sting  of  envy,  methinks  I  already  hear  these  car- 
pers objecting  to  the  clearness  of  our  hero's  title. 

"  It  would  never,"  say  they,  "  have  been  esteemed  suffi- 
cient to  make  a  hero  for  the  Iliad  or  tineas,  that  Achilles 
was  brave  enough  to  overturn  one  empire,  or  ^En3as  pious 
enough  to  raise  another,  had  they  not  been  goddess  born 
and  princes  bred.  What  then  did  this  author  mean,  by 
erecting  a  player  instead  of  one  of  his  patrons  (a  person, 
*  never  a  hero  even  on  the  stage/  4)  to  this  dignity  of  colleague 
in  the  empire  of  dulness,  an  achiever  of  a  work  that  neither 
old  Omar,  Attila,  nor  John  of  Leyden  could  entirely  bring 
to  pass  ?  " 

To  all  this  we  have,  as  we  conceive,  a  sufficient  answer 
from  the  Roman  historian,  fahrum  esse  SUCK  quemque  for- 
tunoc, :  "  that  every  man  is  the  smith  of  his  own  fortune." 

i  "  Letter  to  Mr.  P.,"  p.  53.  2  "  Letter,"  p.  1. 

»  "  Don  Quixote,"  part  ii.,  book  ii,,  en,. 22,     <  See  «'  Life,"  p,  148. 


APPENDIX.  549 

The  politic  Florentine,  Nicholas  Machiavel,  goeth  still  fur- 
ther, and  affirmeth  that  a  man  needeth  but  to  believe  himself 
a  hero  to  be  one  of  the  worthiest.  "Let  him/'  saith  he, 
"  but  fancy  himself  capable  of  the  highest  things,  and  he 
will  of  course  be  able  to  achieve  them."  From  this  principle 
it  follows,  that  nothing  can  exceed  our  hero's  prowess,  as 
nothing  ever  equalled  the  greatness  of  his  conceptions.  Hear 
how  he  constantly  paragons  himself:  at  one  time  to  Alex- 
ander the  Great  and  Charles  XII.  of  Sweden,  for  the  excess 
and  delicacy  of  his  ambition  ; l  to  Henry  IV.  of  France,  for 
honest  policy; 2  to  the  first  Brutus,  for  love  of  liberty; 3  and 
to  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  for  good  government  while  in 
power ; 4  at  another  time,  to  the  godlike  Socrates,  for  his 
diversions  and  amusements; 5  to  Horace,  Montaigne,  and 
Sir  William  Temple,  for  an  elegant  vanity  that  maketh 
them  for  ever  read  and  admired: 6  to  two  lord  chancellors,  for 
law,  from  whom,  when  confederate  against  him,  at  the  bar, 
he  carried  away  the  prize  of  eloquence;7  and  to  say  all  in  a 
word,  to  the  right  reverend  the  Lord  Bishop  of  London  him- 
self, in  the  art  of  writing  pastoral  letters.  8 

Nor  did  his  actions  fall  short  of  the  sublimity  of  his  con- 
ceit. In  his  early  youth  he  met  the  Revolution 9  face  to  face 
in  Nottingham;  at  a  time  when  his  betters  contented  them- 
selves with  following  her.  It  was  here  he  got  acquainted 
with  Old  Battle-array,  of  whom  he  hath  made  so  honourable 
mention  in  one  of  his  immortal  odes.  But  he  shone  in  courts 
as  well  as  in  camps;  he  was  called  up  when  the  nation  fell 
in  labour  of  this  Revolution: 10  and  was  a  gossip  at  her  christ- 
ening, with  the  bishop  and  the  ladies.11 

As  to  his  birth,  it  is  true  he  pretendeth  no  relation  either 
to  heathen  god  or  goddess;  but,  what  is  as  good,  he  was 
descended  from  a  maker  of  both. 12  And  that  he  did  not  pass 
himself  on  the  world  for  a  hero,  as  well  by  birth  as  ed  - 
ucation,  was  his  own  fault:  for  his  lineage  he  bringeth  into 
bis  life  as  an  anecdote,  and  is  sensible  he  had  it  in  his  power 
to  be  thought  nobody's  son  at  all: 13  and  what  is  that  but 
coining  into  the  world  a  hero  ? 

But  be  it  (the  punctilious  laws  of  epic  poesy  so  requiring) 
that  a  hero  of  more  than  mortal  birth  must  needs  be  had; 
even  for  this  we  have  a  remedy.  We  can  easily  derive  our 
liero's  pedigree  from  a  goddess  of  no  small  power  and  au- 
thority amongst  men;  and  legitimate  and  instal  him  after  the 
right  classical  and  authentic  fashion:  for,  like  as  the  ancient 
sages  found  a  son  of  Mars  in  a  might  warrior;  a  son  of  Nep- 
tune in  a  skilful  seaman  ;  a  son  of  Phoebus  in  a  harmonious 
poet;  so  have  we  here,  if  need  be,  a  son  of  Fortune  in  an 
artful  gamester.  And  who  fitter  than  the  offspring  of 
Chance,  to  assist  in  restoring  the  empire  of  Night  and  Chaos  ? 

There  is,  in  truth,  another  objection  of  greater  weight, 

i  P.  149.  *  P.  424.  •  P.  366. 

4  P.  457.  *  P.  18.  •  P.  425. 

7  Pp.  436,  437.  »P.52.  9  See  "  Life."  p.  47.  »OP,  57, 

»  Pp,  68/59.          *  A  statuary.          "  "  Lite/'  f.  C 


550  APPENDIX. 

namely,  "  That  this  hero  still  existeth,  and  hath  not  yet  fin* 
ished  his  earthly  course.  For  if  Solon  said  well, 

« ultima  semper 

Expectanda  dies  homini :  dicique  beatus 
Ante  obitum  nemo  supremaque  f  unera  debet  1" 

if  no  man  be  called  happy  till  his  death,  surely  much  less 
can  any  one,  till  then,  be  pronounced  a  hero:  this  species  of 
men  being  far  more  subject  than  others  to  the  caprices  of 
fortune  and  humour."  But  to  this  also  we  have  an  answer, 
that  will  (we  hope)  be  deemed  decisive.  It  cometh  from 
himself;  who,  to  cut  this  matter  short,  hath  solemnly  pro- 
tested he  will  never  change  or  amend. 

With  regard  to  his  vanity,  he  declareth  that  nothing  shall 
ever  part  them.  "Nature,"  said  he,  "hath  amply  supplied 
me  hi  vanity;  a  pleasure  which  neither  the  pertness  of  wit  nor 
the  gravity  of  wisdom,  will  ever  persuade  me  to  part  with."  l 
Our  poet  had  charitably  endeavoured  to  administer  a  cure  to 
it:  but  he  telleth  us  plainly,  "  My  superiors  perhaps  may  be 
mended  by  him;  but  for  my  part  I  own  myself  incorrigible. 
I  look  upon  my  follies  as  the  best  part  of  my  fortune."2 
And  with  good  reason  ;  we  see  to  what  they  have  brought 
him ! 

Secondly;  as  to  buffoonery.  "  Is  it,"  saith  he  "a  time  of 
day  for  me  to  leave  off  these  fooleries,  and  set  up  a  new 
character  ?  I  can  no  more  put  off  my  follies  than  my  skin  ; 
1  have  often  tried,  but  they  stick  too  close  to  me:  nor  am  I 
sure  my  friends  are  displeased  with  them,  for  in  this  light 
I  afford  them  frequent  matter  of  mirth,  &c. ,  &c. "  3  Having 
then  so  publicly  declared  himself  incorrigible,  he  is  become 
dead  in  law  (I  mean  the  law  popoeian)  and  devolveth  upon 
the  poet  as  his  property;  who  may  take  him,  and  deal  with 
him  as  if  he  had  been  dead  as  long  as  an  old  Egyptian  hero; 
that  is  to  say,  embowel  and  embalm  him  for  posterity. 

Nothing,  therefore  (we  conceive)  remaineth  to  hinder  his 
own  prophecy  of  himself  from  taking  immediate  effect.  A  . 
rare  felicity  !  and  what  few  prophets  have  had  the  satis- 
faction to  see,  alive  !  Nor  can  we  conclude  better  than  with 
that  extraordinary  one  of  his,  which  is  conceived  in  these 
oraculous  words,  "  my  dulness  will  find  somebody  to  do  it 
right."4 

"  Tandem  Phoebus  adest,  morsusque  inferre  parantem 
Congelat,  et  patulos,  ut  erant,  indurat  hiatus."5 

i  See  •«  Life,"  p.  424.  2  p.  19.  3  p.  17. 

*  See  "Life."  p.  243,  Svoedit. 

•  Ovid,  of  the  serpent  biting  at  Orpheus'a  head. 


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